


Worth A Thousand Words

by ferriswheelfics



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 50,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferriswheelfics/pseuds/ferriswheelfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four is an aspiring photographer for National Geographic, following all the right steps to attain his goal. However, his path intertwines with that of Tris Prior, a young performer who offers a completely new perspective on life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**August 2011**

I can’t believe I’m here right now, at my old high school of all places. This is not what I envisioned when I graduated two years ago.

Zeke is thrilled to be back. He walks quickly and excitedly through the hallways, until something new catches his attention and he has to devote five minutes to it. I wish I had his enthusiasm, his nostalgia. Instead, I feel disappointment creeping in to me.

“We should probably go back to the outdoor learning center,” I say, reminding him of the reason we’re here in the first place.

“The kids won’t start coming in for another fifteen minutes,” he protests.

“Stop calling them kids. They’re only a couple years younger than us.”

"Come on, Four. Don’t you want to see what’s different before we have to take a thousand pictures?”

“No,” I deadpan.

“Fine.” He adds a groan for good measure. “We can go finish setting up the cameras.”

I do notice some differences while we travel the hallways towards the back of the school, but I don’t mention them. I don’t mind that Zeke thinks it’s because I’m not observant because I know it’s not the case. If I wasn’t observant, I wouldn’t be a photographer in the first place. It’s somewhat obvious that photography is not Zeke’s desired field, but it’s a small job until he can get a career in the field he wants. Zeke and I notice things differently; what I notice is often significantly less distinct than what his eyes register.

Our photography equipment is already set up in the learning center behind the school. It’s a nice set-up. The lighting is beautiful. The woods are in the background, flowers growing wildly in the grass. The students will lean against the brick wall of the center to have their pictures taken. We’ve been sent by the company Kang Photography to take the senior pictures for the year.

Photography is practically the only thing I take interest in. Capturing the evanescent beauty of life in an otherwise desolate world appeals to me in ways I’ve never shared with anyone, but this job does not contribute to my passion in the least. I pictured myself working for a magazine by age 20, and here I am taking senior photos at my old high school, explaining stances and telling teenagers to smile, teenagers who are only two years younger than I am.

“All right, it looks like I’ve got A-M, and you have N-Z,” Zeke notices as he scans through the stickers for each student.

“So I get Uriah?”

“Yeah.” There’s a smile on Zeke’s face at the mention of his brother. “Don’t let him get away with anything just because you’ve known him since he was in preschool.”

“I’ll pretend like I don’t even know him.”

“Good.”

There are almost 700 seniors this year, separated by last name and directed to us twenty-five at a time. I begin to dread this assignment all over again after I photograph the second student.

Uriah is in the third group. He acknowledges me with a small wave, but other than that, his attention seems to be solely focused on the girl standing behind him.

She wears a blush-colored dress, and from where I stand, I can see that her fingernails are painted to match. Her straight, blonde hairs falls just a few inches below her shoulders and she throws her head back laughing at whatever Uriah has just said. A tall boy stands behind her and scolds her for laughing too loudly. She settles for smiling widely instead.

I can’t really seem to take my eyes off the two of them – Uriah and the girl; my eyes are drawn more specifically to the girl.

“Uriah Pedrad,” I say, since I have to confirm the name of every student before I take a photo. He holds both thumbs up in response. “Lean against the brick wall please.”

“Did Zeke pay you to sabotage my picture?” he asks.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Good luck. I never take a bad picture.”

I want to take a picture of him while he speaks, just to prove a point, but I’ve already photographed seventy students, not even a third of my total, and I feel my patience slipping away with every shot.

“Okay, you can go now, Uriah,” I tell him.

But he doesn’t move. He lingers by the set, and I realize he’s waiting for the girl.

“Next!”

The girl strides over to the set and leans against the brick wall without my instruction. She smiles at me, practiced and professional, and I’m sure she’s used to posing for pictures. She knows exactly how to stand, and someone’s taught her how to smile well, unless she just has a great smile on her own.

“Beatrice Prior?”

She cringes when I say her name but nods a second later. I take the picture and examine the image. She really is a beautiful girl. My picture captured her well.

“You can go now.” She nods. “Have a good day!” she exclaims.

I silently bid her the same and watch as she meets Uriah by the set. I sigh when the two of them don’t move. They must be waiting for the next boy. I look down at the next sticker for his name. Caleb Prior. He must be her brother. I quickly take his picture, and the three of them hurriedly leave me to my monotonous work.

* * *

 

“How’d Uriah’s picture come out?” Zeke asks when we pack the tripods up.

“Fine.” Without thinking, I add, “I met his girlfriend, too.”

Zeke’s face contorts in confusion. “Uri doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Blonde girl,” I describe. “I think her last name was Prior.”

Recognition crosses his face. “Tris Prior!” he confirms. “Yeah, they’re not together. Just good friends. You know, she’s only sixteen.”

“Sixteen?” I ask. I had assumed she was just a bit of a late bloomer since her figure wasn’t exactly as womanly as the other seventeen and eighteen-year-old girls I photographed today. Now I suppose she’s just young. “How is she a senior at sixteen?”

“First off, she was born in June, so she started out younger than everyone. And then she skipped a grade. She’ll turn seventeen after she graduates.”

“That’s pretty impressive.”

“Her mom kinda pushed her into it. Tris is a stage kid.”

"And her brother?”

“Bookworm.”

I nod as a response and zip up my final bag, grateful that the day is done. Days like this make me want to resubmit my résumé to every interesting newspaper and magazine company in the country. I tell Zeke I’ll see him at work tomorrow and pack everything up in my car. I don’t listen to any music as I drive to my apartment, the silence soothing me on its own.

However, nothing starts my heart from racing when I see a poster on a bench by some sidewalk, encouraging people to reelect my father for congress. Even though time has passed, his picture is still enough to send chills down my spine and increase my breathing.

That’s another reason why I want to get out of here soon. I found a certain freedom with photography; rebellion grew with every picture I took. But how am I free, if I’m still cowering from pictures of him on benches and campaigns on TV? I won’t be truly free until I leave everything from my past behind, this city included. I thought I would have by now. I thought my opportunities would have opened up. I guess I’ll have to see what the future holds when the future becomes the present.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**December 2011**

“You’ve been bitchin’ to me for two years about how you can’t wait to leave Chicago,” Zeke remarks. “Two years, and now an opportunity finally comes. An opportunity that _requires_ you to leave Chicago. Why won’t you take it?”

He’d be pacing right now, if it wasn’t for the alcohol in his system. It still irritates me that he has to buy us beer from the nearest convenient store, since I’m not of legal drinking age yet. Still, he’s able to convey his bewilderment with the situation.

“I don’t want to work for People magazine,” I say simply before taking another swig of my beer.

“C’mon, Four! You’ve got plenty of time to work your way up in New York! You don’t get your dream job at National Geographic on the first try. You need experience. You need more education. You need to build a portfolio, all of which you can do for People in New York…with me as the reporter you’d be working with.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re not even an actual reporter. You’re keeping track of what celebrities eat and how they dress. There’s nothing to brag about there.”

He punches my shoulder, most likely harder than he intended to. “Exactly. I want to be a columnist one day, but I realize that I can’t be a columnist tomorrow. At least I’ll be writing. You need to keep that in mind. Take the job, and then you can still take photos and be with your best friend away from Chicago!”

He does have a point. It would be a change, and there’s nothing keeping me here. I’m certainly not looking forward to taking anymore pictures of walk-in families or school yearbook portraits with Kang Photography.

It’s been four months since I took the senior photos at my old high school, and nothing in my life has changed since then. It’s all become an exact routine. Sure, there’s something nice about routines, a safety to them, but my entire life has been forced to conform to routines established by someone else. I always talk about how I want to take control of my life, and if I fail to do so when I have the chance, it will only make me a coward in the end.

“I’ll consider it,” I say, even though my mind is already made up. I can’t let Zeke know my final answer just yet; it will fuel his arrogance.

“As long as you have an answer soon.”

* * *

“Listen, I got you a date and we’re all going on a group date to the skating rink tonight,” Zeke tells me over the phone.

I hate it when he does this. He sets me up with someone before telling me that he plans to set me up with someone, and then I’m obligated to go on the date. Even in high school every date he set me up with was awkward. Either my best friend really doesn’t know me, or he’s grasping at straws to find someone remotely compatible.

“I hate roller skating,” I remind him. “It’s too – ’’

“Loud, crowded, and flamboyant,” he mocks, imitating my low, stern voice. He’s remarked in the past that I always sound like I’m scolding someone. Perhaps it’s because that was the most prominent tone I heard growing up.

“Yes. Besides, maybe I have plans.”

“You can’t. I’m your only friend.” After a second, he adds, “And we’ve been friends for the longest time. Since preschool. We’re practically brothers, so you should really do this for me.”

“Fine. Who is this person you set me up with?”

“One of Shauna’s friends, Nicole.”

“So you’re gonna be all heart-eyes with your girlfriend, and I’ll be in some weird corner with Nicole?”

“It’s a _group_ date,” he repeats. “Uriah will be there, too.”

“Who’s he going with?”

“You remember his friend from picture day that you thought was his girlfriend? Tris Prior?”

Tris Prior’s image flashes in my mind – a young girl with a blinding smile in a pretty pink dress. I’m sure I’m not remembering her quite accurately, but my curiosity is roused all the same.

“So are they dating now?”

“No, still friends.”

“You said it was a group date. Doesn’t that mean they’re on a date?”

“Look, I’ve seen the dynamic between Uri and Tris. They’re more playful than anything else. Trust me, they’re not dating. There’s not a girl on earth that deserves to put up with Uri’s shit.”

I smirk. “He takes after his brother.”

“That he does.” He pauses. “Anyway, be at the skating rink tonight at 7. Bring money for skating and pizza and arcade games.”

“Ugh, not arcade games.”

“You like arcade games,” he says adamantly.

“I did when we were in middle school.”

“Let loose, Four. If only they served alcohol, but of course the place has to be “family friendly”. Oh, and don’t be all stiff and boring with Nicole. You’re not boring; you just act like it on dates. Be comfortable. Let loose.”

“Always appreciative for the unsolicited advice.”

“Always here for it.”

“I’ll see you guys at 7.”

* * *

As always, I’m the first to arrive, and I’m not even early. Zeke just has this thing for being fashionably late. I rent my skates and text Zeke to meet me in the arcade. He informs me that he, Shauna, and Nicole are on their way. He also says that Uriah and Tris are already here.

I look around, trying not to get distracted by the lights reflecting off of the disco ball in the actual skating rink. I finally spot the two of them purchasing a few slices of pizza in the restaurant section adjacent to the arcade. I walk towards them for a few seconds before Uriah turns around, notices me, and waves me over.

“Hey, Four!” he greets. We shake hands before he turns to Tris. “This is Tris,” he says.

Tris holds out her hand to me, and I realize that the image I had of her earlier had not been exaggerated. Her blue eyes are just as bright now as they were when I thought of her. Perhaps I have a stronger eye for detail than I thought.

“Nice to meet you, _Four_ ,” she says, an eyebrow quirked at the odd nickname, something I receive a lot when one of the Pedrad brothers introduces me by that name. I prefer it to my given name, and people usually accept it fairly fast.

“It was my jersey number in little league. Zeke started calling me that, and it caught on,” I explain.

“Oh, that’s really cool. Not many people can pull off a number as a name.”

“I know. Zeke tried. Eleven just isn’t the same.”

Somehow, her smile gets even brighter. “Did you want some pizza while we wait for the other half of our party?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’ll just get a slice now.”

“Oh, no, come on. We can share. Uriah just bought a whole pizza. We can’t let him eat it by himself. He will if we don’t stop him.”

“Damn straight,” Uriah interjects.

“Okay,” I agree. “Let’s get a table.”

Tris distributes the plastic plates and napkins, and we all serve ourselves. “You did the senior photos at our school, right?” she asks.

I nod in response.

“Do you still work there, taking people’s pictures?”

“Currently.”

 “But he’s going to be moving to New York to work for People magazine,” Uriah tells her.

“Congratulations!” she exclaims sincerely. “You are officially not allowed to buy pizza or drinks for the rest of the night. Or arcade games! New job in a new state means we are treating you.”

“T-That’s really not necessary,” I tell her, even though I really do appreciate the idea.

“I wouldn’t argue with this one,” Uriah says. Tris glares at him, and he laughs. “Seriously, she’s like two feet tall, but she’s stubborn as hell.”

“You know I hate it when you make jokes about my height.”

“Sorry, short stack.”

“I’m not even that short!” she proclaims.

“5”4 isn’t short?”

“I’m still growing.” She crosses her arms and playfully mopes, and I can see what Zeke meant by their playful relationship.

Zeke, Shauna, and Nicole arrive a minute later, skates in hand.

“You told me you were in the arcade,” Zeke says.

“I was, and then you took so long that I had to steal some of your brother’s pizza.”

“Whatever. Anyways, Four, this is Nicole.”

She hugs me when we’re introduced, and I tense up in her arms. I would have preferred a handshake to start us off with. Nicole doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort. She pulls back, and I look at her. She must be around our age, maybe a year younger if she’s Shauna’s friend. Nicole is also very pretty. I’m sure Shauna, Nicole, and Tris will be hit on several times tonight.

“You ready to skate?” Nicole asks me.

“Sure,” I agree, although I really want to finish my slice of pizza.

She’s really good at skating. I’m sure she does this often. I’m not exactly novice at it, but I’m not proficient either. I don’t fall on my face, which is a good sign, but I have to decline when she suggests that we skate backwards.

“So what is it that you do?” I ask, hoping to get a good conversation started between the two of us. I really want to relax and start a natural, easy progression for the two of us. Thankfully, I haven’t screwed anything up yet.

“I’m a teacher’s assistant.”

“That’s nice. What subject?”

“Government.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, we’re researching the candidates for the election right now – congressmen and senators,” she adds. She obviously can’t tell when I’m uncomfortable. I’m probably not doing an adequate job of displaying my uneasiness, but I feel like the rigid stance my body’s taken up should be a clue.

“Do you get to help out with the lessons?”

“Yeah, teachers get really excited when they find out they have assistants coming to help. They just dump all their work on the assistant.”

I nod. Shauna complains about that from her teaching assistant job as well. “Is that how you and Shauna met?”

“Yeah. We work at the same high school.”

“That’s nice,” I say awkwardly. I quickly scan my brain for a question I can ask her. I knew Zeke should have given me more time to prepare for this. I should have memorized a list of questions to ask her and practiced possible responses to any questions she had for me. I am so bad at this.

“What’s your favorite color?” I finally ask her.

“Green,” she says. “You?”

“Blue.”

She nods her head slowly. “And you work with Zeke?”

“Yeah.”

“Until Zeke moves to New York?”

“No, I’m moving, too.”

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know you were moving as well.”

“I am.”

The DJ starts to play a slower song now that it’s getting a little later and most of the young children are gone. I don’t know if Nicole wants to slow dance on skates, but I know I don’t so I excuse myself to get a soda.

I see Tris sitting at the table by herself, guarding the pizza.

“Where’s Uriah?” I ask her. She didn’t notice I was there at first, and she jumps a little at the sound of my voice. It almost makes me laugh.

“The thing about going out with a guy friend is that he abandons you once someone who doesn’t look like a horse starts flirting with him,” she says, but there’s no trace of bitterness in her voice, just amusement. She’s clearly still enjoying herself.

“Where’s Nicole?” she asks.

“Still skating. I can barely keep up with her. Are you any good?”

“Some. I don’t fall on my face, but I can’t skate backwards.”

I laugh at her wording. I’d thought the same thing earlier. She smiles at me.

“So did you come back for your pizza?”

“I actually came for some soda.”

She gets up from her seat. “Then soda you shall have,” she says before walking over to the line forming behind the counter. “What kind of soda do you want?”

“Tris, what are you doing?”

“You’re not allowed to pay, remember? You just got a new job in a new state. We’re treating you tonight, and I know that Zeke sprung this whole thing on you last minute. Uriah told me that he likes to do that for fun. Therefore, I’m buying you your soda. Now what flavor do you want?”

“Pepsi.”

She grimaces. “Fine. Although it violates my Coca-Cola only rule, I will make an exception. That’s how special you are.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Now go sit down. Protect the pizza. People will try to steal it if it’s left unattended.”

I follow her orders and take a seat across from where she was sitting when I found her. I bite into a slice of pizza. It’s a little cold, but it still tastes good all the same. I look over my shoulder, outside the window of the restaurant, and search for the other four members of our party. I see Zeke and Shauna holding onto each other for dear life. I wonder how they plan on making their relationship work after he moves to New York. I see Uriah with his arm around a girl I don’t recognize. It takes me a little longer to find Nicole since I’m not accustomed to seeing her face yet, and when I do, I see that she’s skating with another guy, one who seems to be her equal in skill. I decide not to interrupt them for a while.

“One Pepsi,” Tris says as she places the cup in front of me.

“Thank you, but you really didn’t have to do thi – ’’

“Just drink the Pepsi, Four,” she insists lightly.

I do and she takes a sip of her Coca-Cola.

“How’d you get into photography?”

I shrug. I really hate answering personal questions, but she just bought me a soda so I feel like I shouldn’t be a complete jerk to her. “I just liked it.”

“What, no story?” she asks, disappointed.

“What kind of story are you looking for?”

She leans forward in her chair. “I don’t know. Maybe your grandfather gave you a little disposable camera when you were five years old, and you loved it more than anything in the world. Or maybe you were a part of the yearbook committee in school and liked everyone crowding around you for pictures…”

“You have quite the imagination.”

“Yeah, head in the clouds, I know. So you just woke up one day and discovered that you liked taking pictures and wanted to do that for the rest of your life?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“That’s seriously it. There’s not much to me.”

Tris finally leans back and crosses her arms in front of her, but there’s a smirk on her face. Her eyes are calculating. I want to look down, but she silently challenges me to meet her stare. “I think it’s the opposite,” she says. “There has to be a lot to you. There’s a lot to everyone.”

“Well, I’m the exception.”

Even though she shakes her head, she says amicably, “If you say so.”

I feel the corners of my mouth twitch, and I don’t repress the smile like I usually do. It seems that Tris has a way of relaxing the people around her. I don’t believe in auras, but attitudes and body language are real, and you can easily distinguish who in this world is approachable and who is not. I exult myself to be the latter; I suppose Tris would be the former.

“You don’t talk a lot.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement – one that I’ve been told many times before.

“No.”

She smiles and tilts her head thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s why you like photography so much, because a picture’s worth a thousand words.”

Since I’m alone a lot, I’m left alone with my thoughts. I have my own answers to questions I ask myself. I’ve justified my choices in the privacy of my own mind, promised myself that everything I do is for me, not some ruse I’ve created because of everything I’ve experienced.

Still, her careful analysis of someone she’s spoken to for all of five minutes surprises me, not because she’s right – which she is – but because I had never considered that before. I’ve always prided myself on my perceptiveness. However, I’m not always as perceptive when it comes to me.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

She changes the subject. “You should probably get back to your date. Uriah has to take me home soon anyways.”

“It’s still early.”

“I have lessons in the morning. Back to back singing and dancing.”

“Zeke told me you’re a stage kid.”

“Yeah, my parents kinda just scanned me and my brother for any signs of interest in something, and they raised us to be that something once they were sure they figured it out. If I liked gymnastics, they’d be grooming me to be an Olympian.”

“High expectations?” I ask.

“Definitely.”

“I know what that’s like.”

Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, but she decided against it and purses her lips. I’m grateful; I didn’t mean to reveal that detail about myself.

“Well, I’m going to go get Uriah. It was nice talking to you, Four – well, when you did talk.”

“You, too.”

After Tris and Uriah leave, I go back to skating again. Nicole’s still skating with the other guy, and I don’t want to look too awkward skating here by myself, so I decide to be a third wheel to Zeke and Shauna.

“What did you leave Nicole for?” Shauna immediately demands.

“Things were getting awkward.”

“So you left?” Zeke asks. “To make things un-awkward?”

“I wanted a soda.”

“Yeah, we saw you drinking your soda with Tris.”

“She’s nice.”

“She’s sixteen.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I protest. “I know she’s sixteen. I’m not interested in her like that.”

“Good,” Zeke says, and that’s the end of that.

“Are you ready to get out here?” he asks.

“So ready.”

Shauna quickly agrees and collects Nicole. We part ways, and even though Nicole and I split pleasantly, I doubt she’s anxious to see me again anytime soon. That’s okay. I’m not so crazy about her either.

* * *

It was so easy to pack my apartment up, easier than it should have been. I never did make myself comfortable during the two years I lived here since I was always ready to leave and never come back.

But I suppose there will be a couple of things I’ll miss about Chicago, a couple of people I’ll miss seeing.

I check my answering machine and find a message from my father. I don’t listen to it. I can’t stand to hear his voice. He’s the last thing I’ll miss about Chicago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is here now! I hope you enjoyed the second installment!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**January** **2012**

New York City is very energetic, more so than I expected. There are always parties and premieres, and everyone is always rushing to get someplace. No surprise there since there isn’t an equal taxi cab to citizen ratio.

I’ve been here for about two weeks now, and Zeke and I are already settled into the apartment we’re renting. I’m not used to sharing space with anyone, but the only way we could afford living in the city was to become roommates.

Zeke and Shauna are trying to make the long distance thing work. She promised that she’d consider moving to New York once she finished school. Zeke went to ECPI online and completed his bachelor degree in two and a half years, no breaks, so he already has his education covered.

I’m secretly happy for the two of them. I don’t want to be someone that refuses to let others be happy because I’m not. I want to see people do good by each other; I want to prove to myself that people can shape each other for the better.

The job is what I thought it would be. It doesn’t challenge my talents or satisfy my own photographic desires. I’m just taking pictures for the articles, usually photographing whatever and whoever Zeke tells me to photograph.

But I suppose it’s a good opportunity, a good transition while I finish my bachelor’s degree in anthropology online. My goal is to work for National Geographic, and they only accept photographers with degrees in other fields, anthropology being one of them. I was pleasantly surprised by how much the subject interests me. When I complete my degree, I’ll definitely apply for a job there. Until then, I have to create a life for myself in New York City.

* * *

“So you’re telling me that I have to take a picture of a woman eating soup?”

“Oh, no. She’s not eating the soup yet. The spoon is halfway to her mouth.”

“The spoon is halfway to her mouth?” Zeke nods. “Well, that makes it all better.”

“You want to complain about having to take this picture? Try writing the article that goes along with it.”

“How does that even go with People magazine?”

“It’s a human interest story!” Zeke exclaims.

“But is it? Is it really?”

“Humans are interested in good cooking.”

“But aren’t there already magazines for that purpose?”

“Four, just take the damn picture. I’ve got the article done. It’s a paycheck. We’ll never have to mention it again by the end of the week.”

“Fine. Do you have a woman in mind for the picture?” I ask him.

“Nope.”

“Great.”

“We could hold auditions,” Zeke suggests.

“For a woman eating soup?” I demand. “Besides, if we hired someone, we’d have to pay that person. Don’t you have any female friends who could model for the picture?”

“Nope.”

“No one?”

“Nope.”

“And when’s this picture due?”

“With the article by Friday.”

I groan. It’s Wednesday. Wednesday night.

“Wait,” Zeke says.

“What? You thought of someone?”

“Yeah, actually.”

I’m actually relieved. This article has been bothering me for a little over a week now. I can’t wait to get the picture finished and this assignment out of the way. Then we’ll be on to the next obscure human interest story. Zeke really needs to be promoted to celebrities.

“Do you remember Uriah’s friend? Tris Prior? You went on a group date with her once.”

“Yeah,” I say immediately. I’d thought about her a few times since I moved, about the conversation we had in the skating rink restaurant. She’d captured my attention, and she was perceptive about the one thing I had trouble analyzing – myself.

“Uriah told me she’s living here now.”

“What? She’s still in high school. Did they move or something?”

“No. Some scout for Broadway had been tipped off about her, went to see her in a musical, and offered her a part in one of the shows. Her mom jumped on it, so now she’s living with her aunt in the city, finishing school by mail.”

“And the rest of her family’s in Chicago?”

“Yeah, but anyways, she’s really pretty. We know her. We can just call her up. I’m sure she’d want to help us.”

Suddenly, I’m nervous. “No, wait. Don’t call her.”

“Why not?”

“J-just don’t. I’m sure we have other options.”

“No, Four, we don’t. Why don’t want you to call Tris? She wouldn’t mind. She’s literally the sweetest kid ever.”

“I’d rather a stranger than an acquaintance. I don’t want it to be really awkward. We’ll be calling this girl, who’s probably really busy with Broadway and school, to come over to our kitchenette and pose with soup.”

“Is it really making you uncomfortable?” Zeke asks.

“Yeah, I don’t want to do that. I know she’s pretty and sweet and stuff, but she’s your brother’s friend. We don’t know her well enough for this, and she’s a minor, so we’d need a guardian’s consent form. Speaking of her being a minor, she’s probably too young for the shot anyways.”

“Okay, fine. I won’t call Tris. I had no idea you were so strongly against her.”

“I’m not against her!”

“I’m joking, Four!” he shouts with a laugh. “God, lighten up.”

“Whatever.”

“You know, the shot doesn’t have to be a woman with soup. We’re pretty desperate. It could be a man. You could take a picture of me.”

“You’re serious?” I ask.

“Dead serious. I’m a handsome dude. Don’t deny it. I get it from my mom’s side. The good old Larson-Pedrad charm.”

“That charm ended with the last generation,” I say, thinking of his sweet mother. She practically took care of me since I was always at Zeke’s house.

“Well, you don’t want to call Tris, so this is our only option. You either take the picture of me, or I call Tris.”

“Fine,” I mutter and walk away before he has a chance to reply. I doubt his reply would be worth the time anyways.

I don’t know exactly why I’m not so sure about calling Tris. I have an idea why, but I don’t want to give voice to that idea yet. It’s making me more and more uncomfortable. When you develop feelings for someone, it’s supposed to be a good thing. It’s supposed to be a wonderful feeling, not an embarrassing one, not one that makes me feel like a pervert because she’s sixteen and I’m twenty. I tell myself that she doesn’t act like a sixteen-year-old, that she doesn’t carry herself like a child, but I’m only justifying foolish behavior.

I’m not even sure I have romantic feelings for her. I think I just liked what she had to say. Even though she seems wise beyond her years, there is still an innocence and naïveté about her. That had been refreshing. That’s all there is to it.

* * *

 

**March 2012**

The job offer from the New York Times could not have come sooner. This is what I had in mind as a transition into National Geographic. This is the kind of experience National Geographic is looking for. Even better, my assignments still allow me the time to finish school online. I’m paid well for my work, and my photographs compliment articles that actually interest me.

I was surprised when Zeke didn’t apply for a job with the Times when I did. He’s taken quite a liking to working with People magazine. He’s already been promoted after working there for two and a half months.

My boss at the Times, Amar, is firm and professional at work. Outside of work, he’s a completely different person. His personality reminds me of Zeke with his humor and casual attitude, such a contrast from the rigid businessman he is in the office. I suppose he’s intimidating to gain respect. He is pretty young for his position.

“Eaton,” he calls just when I’m about to leave the office.

“Yes, sir.”

“I have an assignment for you. The day after tomorrow, there will be a revival of the musical _A Tale of Two Cities_ on Broadway. It’s a big deal. The Times always covers reviews of the biggest shows on Broadway, and this is one of them. I need you to photograph the main cast, review the play, and attend the opening night party. It should be a lot of fun. They always go all out for those opening night parties for publicity. Will you be able to do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll have your press pass ready for you in the morning. Have a good night.”

“Thank you. You, too.”

It looks like I have plans for the weekend. I just got out of Zeke’s blind date for me.

“Hey, I can’t go on that date with Myra,” I tell Zeke when I find him watching basketball in the living room.    

“The hell you can’t.”

“I just got this new assignment from Amar. I’ll be busy.”

“Amar gave you the assignment, or you requested the assignment?”

“He gave it to me. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a boy scout,” he reminds me.

“No, but it’s the only honor thing I’ve ever heard about.”

“That’s true. I’ve never heard of anything else, either. Why do you think that is? You know what, we need to come up with our own honor thing. We’ll call it Four’s Honor, and we’ll just put four fingers over our heart. That’s great. Do the Four’s Honor.”

“You have got to be joking.” When I see that he’s not joking, I sigh and place all my right hand fingers, excluding my thumb, over my heart. “Four’s honor,” I grumble.

He’s appeased. “What’s the assignment?”

“I’m covering a show on Broadway. _A Tale of Two Cities_. Show, after party, and all.”

His eyes widen. “That’s the show Uriah’s friend is in. You know, Tris?”

It seems like fate won’t leave the two of us alone. “Really? What part does she play?”

“I don’t know, but I can probably find out from Uri,” he says, reaching for his cell phone. “It’s really exciting – knowing someone on Broadway. I bet she’s real excited.”

“I’m sure. Nervous, too.”

“Seeing your familiar face before the show when you take her picture might help.”

“I barely know her.”

“You still know her. It helps.”

I shrug, but he isn’t paying attention. He’s already on the phone with Uriah.

Tris and Uriah keep in touch, so he knows just about everything that’s going on in her life. So he knows that she’s playing Lucie Manette, one of the most important characters in the musical. And he knows that her parents aren’t able to make it for opening night. And he knows that she’s extremely nervous and doesn’t know what to expect from critics. She’s never been in a production of this caliber before.

I decide to send her roses, nothing special, just a standard bouquet. And I decide to send them anonymously so she doesn’t have to deal with any discomfort if she doesn’t like the idea that the flowers are from me.

Besides, I don’t mean it as a romantic gesture. It’s support. I know she’s nervous, and her family can’t make it to the musical, and I don’t know how the other actors are treating her since she’s young and inexperienced, so I just want to send her a bouquet of roses. It feels warranted.

At least those are the reasons I tell myself on the way to the flower shop.

* * *

The access pass around my neck feels out of place among the suit I wear. I have my camera equipment in the car, and the navigation directions on my phone. I’m ready to go. The musical doesn’t start for another two and a half hours but I have to be there early for pictures. I’m actually looking forward to it.

I’ve lived in New York for a few months, and I have seen a lot of the sights, but this is my first time to Broadway. It’s a huge building with _A Tale of Two Cities_ on the marquis. It’s a pain in the ass to figure out how to park my car, but once I do, I enter the building, explain who I am, and am immediately led to the theatre. The cast is collected near the stage, talking among each other.

I spot Tris immediately. Her hair is a little shorter than I remember, brushing only slightly past her shoulders instead of inches below. She looks a little older, even though I saw her in December. I’m sure she’ll have to wear plenty of makeup tonight, since she’s playing a character that’s actually a year older than she is. That’s quite rare in acting.

She sees me before any of the other cast members do. She smiles at me and waves, encouraging me to talk to her before I talk to anyone else.

I look down at my watch. There’s time to have a conversation with her before I take the cast pictures, and even if I run out of time, I’ll get plenty of shots from the opening night party.

“Four,” she greets.

“Tris.”

“Uriah called and told me you’d be the photographer from the New York Times. Congratulations on the job,” she says. Her smile is contagious.

“Really? You’re congratulating me on my new job when you’re Lucie Manette in _A Tale of Two Cities_?”

“I don’t support Lucie’s choices anyways. She shouldn’t end up with Charles Darnay.”

“Spoiler alert.”

She rolls her eyes. “We all read the book in middle school.”

“I think I just read the Sparknotes.”

“I probably did, too,” she admits. “Don’t tell my mom.”

“Never.”

“Seriously, though. Photographer for the New York Times is a big deal. The Times is _the_ most prestigious news company in the country.”

“We’re okay.”  
“You’re their employee; shouldn’t you be advocating for them?”

“Don’t tell my boss.”

“Never.”

We don’t say anything for a minute. We just look at each other with stupid smiles on our faces, and I can only imagine how ridiculous we look to everyone else. This pushes me to collect everyone and direct them to where the camera’s been set up.

The six main cast members line up with the playwright for the photograph. I try not to let my eyes wander to Tris when I look into the lens, but it’s hard not to be drawn to her. Her bright eyes demand attention. And her smile taunts me. It’s like she knows she distracts me against my will.

I take four different shots in different ways with the cast lined up differently, a different angle, etc. The photograph subjects are satisfied with the final picture that I assure them will be used over the other ones.

I can’t talk to Tris afterwards since she’s whisked away for her costume and makeup. The next time I see her she’ll be onstage. That’s an exciting thought. I’ll get to see her in her element. I’ll get to see how she works. It only seems fair. She’s seen me in my professional setting twice now. And it will be a treat to hear her sing, to see her act. She must be talented if she’s on Broadway at sixteen years old.

The seats in the theatre fill up quickly, and there are many representatives from other media news in the section reserved for press. The theatre is loud, bursting with excitement, but everyone is immediately silent when the lights begin to dim and the orchestra begins.

The prologue starts, and there is a young Lucie Manette, played by a child, not Tris, on the stage. A few minutes pass and that young girl is replaced by Tris to show the progression of time.

She looks extremely elegant in her period gown, and her hair is tied up in curls. I thought she’d have to wear one of those white French wigs, but I am thankful they let her have her natural hair. I admire her for a moment, and then she starts to sing.

_She was my mother,_

_Weep for your wife who could not bear to live without you by her side._

_She hid your torture from me_

_And she told me you had died._

_It’s over now._

_No more good-byes._

_Close your eyes._

_Let memory fly away._

_You’ll never be alone again._

_Come with me._

_We’ll find a brighter day._

_You’ll never fear the dark again._

_We both were lost._

_But now that’s all behind us all the endless years I never knew you._

I don’t have the words to describe her voice. I need to come up with them soon since I’m reviewing this musical, and the press is watching her especially since this is her debut. The only word that comes to mind is hypnotic. It’s impossible not to be drawn to her voice, not to believe the words she says. It’s demure for the usual Broadway show, but that’s how wonderful she is. She doesn’t need a big musical number for her first song. She’s captivated the audience with a single verse.

When the song finishes, I gauge the faces of the others around me, some with notepads out and pens in hand. They all seem impressed, and I’m overwhelmingly proud of Tris, even though I don’t know her well. She’s exceeded my expectations for her, and that’s a difficult feat. Not many before her have been able to accomplish that.

I doubt many after her will be able to either.

* * *

When Amar said that the opening night party would be big, I wasn’t expecting it to be this big. It should be a lot of fun, I suppose, but I’m mostly uncomfortable. When Zeke persuaded me to attend parties in high school, I usually awkwardly followed him around the entire time. I don’t have him to follow around here.

I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder. I flinch a little before turning around, and I am met by Tris. She’s wearing a black dress with lace overlay. Her lips are red, and her hair is in a French twist. She has a flask of sparkling apple juice in her hand, and somehow, her smile is even brighter than all of the other times I’ve seen it.

“Hey, Four.”

“Hey.”

“Having a good time?”

“The show was great. The party’s a little too much of a party,” I answer honestly.

She laughs. “I know what you mean. To tell you the truth, I think everyone’s kind of drunk,” she says. “Except me.” She puts on a playful pout. “Because I can’t drink alcohol for another five years.”

“Legally anyways.”  
“What kind of influence are you? Encouraging me to break the law?”

“I’m a terrible influence, apparently. And I’m not really one to talk. I’m not 21 yet either.”

“You’re not?”

“Not until July.”

“What day?”

“The 5th.”

She takes a sip of her drink. “I’m sending you a card,” she says.

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes I am. A card with a huge fruit bouquet right to your desk. Oh, and a choreographed quartet! I know where you work, Four.”

“But you don’t know my name,” I remind her.

“I could figure it out,” she replies, and her one statement instills fear in me. “But I won’t. You’re allowed to have secrets.”

I appreciate her discretion. “What about you? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, but I’m not one for huge parties like this. After ten weeks of rehearsal, I’m exhausted. I just want to go home and sleep.”

“Are you going back to Chicago after shows are finished?”

She shakes her head. “No. My mom wants me to stay here, listen to my agent, and have more auditions. Now that I’ve started, she doesn’t want me to stop. And thankfully, my aunt’s really nice, and she’s made me feel welcome.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s New York City been treating you?”

“It’s been good,” I say.

She tries to contain her smile. She doesn’t succeed. “You’re still not a man of many words, I see.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

Just then, another photographer for another newspaper interrupts us to collect Tris for a picture. She looks at me reluctantly, and I am a little hopeful that she doesn’t want to leave the conversation, but I smile at her and reassure her that I’m leaving now anyways.

“See you around,” she says, nothing final, exasperatingly vague.

“Yeah, see you around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your continued support! Please let me know your thoughts about this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**July 2012**

It's hot as hell in Florida. I'm on a boat, photographing dolphins since I have yet to see a humpback whale. That's my new assignment. Apparently, humpback whale populations have increased thanks to conservation efforts, so the New York Times is featuring an article about the good news. Also, this is the kind of photography National Geographic looks for, so this is a new opportunity for me to expand my portfolio.

After a few more shots of dolphins, I relax on the floor of the boat. If a humpback whale appears, I'll be able to see it.

My short moment of relaxation is interrupted by my phone ringing. I'm surprised I still get service out here. I don't recognize the number, so I assume it has to do with work. I answer it.

" _Happy Birthday to you,_

_Happy Birthday to you,_

_Happy Birthday, Dear Four,_

_Happy Birthday to you_!"

"I can't believe you remembered," I tell her. I'm so surprised, and my cheeks ache from my wide smile.

"Please, I was reciting it over and over again once you told me. Four's birthday is July 5th. Four's birthday is July 5th. I wrote it right on my calendar when I got home."

"How did you even get my number?"  
"Well, you see, my best friend happens to be your best friend's brother. And my best friend owes me a bunch of favors and your best friend is more than willing to comply."

"Understood. And Happy Late Birthday to you. You turned seventeen a few weeks ago, didn't you?"

"Yeah, we're both summer babies."

"How's Broadway stardom been treating you?"

"Good. I just had another opening night last week."

"What? And I didn't know about it? I would have come."

She laughs. "There's still time. The show doesn't close for another few weeks."

"Good, because I'm on assignment in Florida right now so I can't exactly make it tonight. What's the show called?"

"Guys and Dolls. What's the assignment?"

"Humpback whales. Isn't Guys and Dolls a popular production?"

"Somewhat. And have you seen any whales yet? They're my favorite animals."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. They're amazing. What's your favorite animal?"

"Elephant, hands down."

"An elephant?" she asks. "I thought you'd be more partial to predators."

"Well, elephants are better than predators because even predators are afraid of them. You don't really see much of that. The lion's always called the king of the jungle, but it doesn't dare hunt an adult elephant."

"That's a fantastic point," she says. "And since you're working, I'll leave you to it. Do the whales justice. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday."

"Thank you for that."

"Have a drink for me. I can't for another four years."

"I will."

"Talk to you later."

Her goodbyes are always vague like that. It's still a little frustrating how open-ended she leaves things with me, but I suppose it doesn't bother me as much as it did a few months ago. She's helped me to embrace spontaneity a little bit more.

Shortly after her call, I spot my first humpback whale, followed by a second one, a much smaller one: a mother and calf. I take as many pictures as I can once I realize that this is actually happening in front of me, and when I review the photos, I smile to think that Tris may be something of a lucky charm.

* * *

I develop the photos for my boss shortly after returning to New York City. Then I go back to the apartment to catch up with Zeke and put all my bags us.

"How was whale watching?"

"Pretty good."

"And you missed out on your twenty-one birthday punches. Guess I got to make up for it now." He quickly jumps up and corners me, fists raised, but I casually block him and wrestle myself out of his hold. He always forgets that he hasn't been able to beat me in a fight since elementary school.

"Fine. Be like that," he says. "By the way, your dad finally figured out where you live. He sent a couple of letters while you were gone."

"Great," I deadpan.

My gaze follows Zeke's line of sight to the two sterile looking envelopes on the counter. My father couldn't even take the time to write his name out, instead placing a sticker for the return address, if he even sent it himself. He probably had one of his secretaries do it for him. He's been busier than ever since he won the re-election.

"I'm not gonna read them."

"I figured that much."

"Then why are they still here?"

"Seemed wrong to throw them out without your knowledge."

"Well, you have my permission to do that in the future. You know what, maybe I should just get a new apartment."

"He'd still be able to find you."

"I know that, but maybe it's time we get our own apartments. Well, me; you can keep this one. We both have enough money saved up, and I know Shauna's planning on staying here in August. And Uriah's coming in a couple of weeks…"

"That doesn't mean you're not welcome," Zeke tells me.

"I know that. I might even be able to find an apartment close by. I'm just saying that this arrangement was meant to be financially convenient to start us off when we were working at the same job. It's been six months. I think it's time for me to get my own place."

"Okay, Four. But know that you're always welcome here."

"And you'll be somewhat welcome at my place."

I end up burning the letters in the flame over the stove before washing the remnants down the drain and turning on the garbage disposal. It only improves my mood a little bit.

While I'm sifting through the memories of the last interactions I had with my father, Zeke decides to order pizza for lunch. I haven't eaten in almost a day, so I'm thankful for the meal.

"Did you know Tris is in a new Broadway show? Guys and Dolls."

Zeke has a thoughtful look on his face as he swallows his bite of food. "And how do you know this?" he asks.

I shrug. "Because she told me."

"When?"

"When she called me on my birthday." I say it casually, like it's no big deal, like that one interaction with her didn't significantly improve my trip.

"So are you two friends now or something?"

"I guess. I want to see her on Broadway again. I think I'll get tickets for the Friday night show or the Saturday matinee."

"I'll probably take Uriah when he comes to visit. I know how much he wants to see her, and the play will be on for a few more weeks."

"Can I see it with you guys then, too?"

"What's with you? Why do you want to make plans to see it twice? You haven't even seen it once yet."

"Well, I'm sure it'll be good."

And it is good. It's fantastic. This time, Tris isn't playing a submissive young lady from the eighteenth century. She's playing a woman that's fed up with her fiancée's reluctance to commit to their life together. And it's such a wonderful role to see her play.

In  _A Tale of Two Cities_ , her voice was timid yet hypnotizing. Here, she is energized and she stomps around stage, and the audience feels every emotion she manifests in that moment.

I send her flowers that night, and even though I send them anonymously like I did for her first show, I'm sure she knows they're from me. If she doesn't, then my text message praising the performance shortly after she received the flowers will likely reveal me.

_-Hey! Thanks for coming tonight! P.S. Did you send me flowers?_

_-I believe that is the tradition for Broadway stars on their opening night._

_-I'm hardly a Broadway star, and it's not my opening night._

_-So I was a couple weeks late._

_-Well, thank you. Are you still in the theater?_

_-No, I left as soon as it was over._

_-Too bad! We could have met up after the show!_

I pause before considering a reply. I don't want her to think that I'm not interested in her, but I also don't want her to feel uncomfortable in case I come across as too interested in her.

_-I'll be back soon for another show._

_-Awesome!_

A smile creeps up to my face. I don't reply after that.

* * *

Uriah comes to visit about a week and a half later. He stays with Zeke and me in the apartment, and I opt to sleep on the living room couch so he can stay in the room. I don't mind sleeping on the couch, but it reaffirms my desire to get my own place. I was so used to having a large space to myself when I was a kid that this is a drastic change. It's not unwelcome, just different.

"Hey, Four!" Zeke shouts. "Did you know that my brother got into the University of Chicago? Uriah Pedrad! Didn't know he had it in him."

Uriah scowls at his brother when Zeke takes him in a headlock and messes his hair up with his fist. I can't help but laugh.

"Oh, my God! Stop!"

Uriah starts punching at Zeke's stomach with just enough force to disable him. Zeke lets go after a few punches.

"But, seriously? University of Chicago? What is that, like the sixth best college in the country?"

"Tied for fourth," Uriah hastily corrects.

"Congratulations," I say.

"Yeah, man. I'm proud of you."

Uriah shrugs. "That's nothing. Caleb Prior got into Princeton."

"I don't care about Caleb Prior," Zeke says firmly. "His parents groomed him for Princeton. They set the expectations for him. You set your own expectations for yourself. And I'm proud of you."

"So am I," I add.

The three of us don't say anymore on the subject. We don't usually have serious conversations with each other, but the Pedrads do know when seriousness is warranted. That's something I've always appreciated about them.

"Hey, Uriah, did Tris apply to any colleges?"

"What do you care?"

"Oh, haven't you heard," Zeke says. "Four and Tris are friends now. They're real buddy-buddy with each other."

I roll my eyes. I know what's about to happen. Zeke and Uriah are going to team up against me, manipulate every single word I say, tease me for situations that never happened. So much for the two of them being serious.

"Is that so? Obviously not "friends enough" if you don't know whether or not she applied for colleges."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Uriah. I mean, Tris called Four to wish him a happy birthday while he was working in Florida."

"Come to think of it, she did call me to ask for your number, Four. I guess that's why she wanted it."

"I guess so," Zeke says.

"And you know, Tris has mentioned this friendship."

"Has she? What has she said?"

"I can't say. She only told me in the strictest confidence."

"That means it's good. And I'm sure Four is dying to know what it is."

"Would you two shut up?" I snap before regretting it. I often forget that the two of them feed off my annoyance. They're like an infection; bacteria only makes them stronger.

"We'll just have to observe the two of them tonight," Uriah finally concludes. "We'll see her at the show."

"Does she know we're coming?" Zeke asks.

"No. It'll make for a good surprise."

"We should probably tell her since we're planning on meeting up with her afterwards," Zeke reminds him.

"No, it's better this way. Trust me. I know," Uriah says pointedly, glaring jokingly at me. "I'm excited to see her in the show tonight. Four, you already saw it, right?"

"Yeah."

"How was the show?"

"It was good."

"How was Tris?"

"She was good."

Uriah sighs. "Is it possible for you to give me any more detail than that?"

"You're going to see it tonight anyways."

"Whatever. You're useless to me now."

"Remember who actually lives here, Uriah."

"Can we have Tris over for dinner one night? I really want to hang out with her again, and it's so cool that you guys live in the same city because I can visit you and then I can visit her, and it's like knocking out two birds with one stone."

"Um…thanks."

"Anytime, Bro."

Having Uriah here is very familiar. The only one missing is their mother, and she'll start visiting more often once Uriah starts school. I'll be looking forward to her visits. I haven't seen her in person since we moved here in January.

* * *

Uriah is practically bursting with excitement. I can imagine why. He's known Tris for years, and I'm sure he's heard about her hopes and dreams, and this was probably one of them. Now here she is lighting up the stage on Broadway, met with more than positive reviews. Everyone's watching her closely.

Zeke sits on the aisle seat, Uriah beside him, and me between Uriah and an elderly couple. I guess I should be happy that almost every seat in the theater is filled. We got here a little later than I wanted to, but we don't have to wait as long for the curtain to go up, and when it does, Uriah can't contain a very high-pitched squeal that has Zeke laughing for a whole thirty seconds.

Uriah leans forward in his chair, scanning every single actor for Tris.

"She's not in this scene," I tell him.

"I can see that. When does she show up?"

"Not for a few more musical numbers. She plays the character Adelaide."

"I know who she plays," he says good-naturedly, reminding me that he is, in fact, her best friend.

But he leans back, enjoying the story until I tell him that Tris's character is about to be introduced.

"This is it," I say.

Uriah smiles as the character Adelaide saunters onto stage. But the actress portraying her is not Tris. It's her understudy.

"That's not Tris."

"No, it isn't."

"That's Adelaide," he says. "But that's not Tris."

"Maybe she got sick or something."

"She'd still go on, even if she got sick. She has before. She's been onstage with a concussion. She's been doing this for years."

"I'm sure she's fine. Stop worrying." I say this to him, more so for my sake than his. He knows Tris well. His worry is rightly placed, but the more he worries, the more I begin to worry, and I can't allow myself create hypothetical situations based on paranoia.

"I'm going to call her."

"What, now?"

"Yes, now! I'll be in the bathroom."

Uriah doesn't return until the end of the first act. When he does, his face is somber as he takes his seat.

"So where is she?" I ask.

"In Chicago."

"What's she doing there?"

"Attending her parents' funeral."

I'm so used to the unconventional humor of Zeke and Uriah that I'm sure he must be joking. I'm waiting for him to say that he's jerking my chain, or pulling one over on me, or any of the other utterly ridiculous phrases the two of them use.

But his face clearly conveys that this is not a joke. And my heart breaks for Tris the second I realize. I can't imagine what she must be feeling right now. She was actually part of a loving family unit, and now the heads of that unit are gone.

"How did they die?" I ask.

"Car crash."

"How long will she be there?"

"She and her aunt are gonna stay at the house until the end of August. Her brother will be there when he can, but he's moving into his dorm at Princeton. Her aunt's gotta get approved for legal guardianship and everything so Tris can come back and officially live with her in New York."

"This is unbelievable."

"I know. I can't believe Mr. and Mrs. Prior are dead. They were so great."

"I forgot that you actually knew them."

"Yeah. I was at their house a lot."

"Do you want to leave now?" I wonder. The play has certainly lost its appeal to me.

"No. Tris wants us to stay."

"Okay."

I think about Tris in some way, shape, or form constantly throughout the second act. I catch myself comparing her to her understudy. Sure, her understudy is talented, but her voice doesn't entrance me the way Tris's does. She doesn't steal my attention the way Tris does, and even if she did steal my attention, I wouldn't be as willing to let her take it as I am with Tris.

I decide towards the end of the show to send her a card to express my sympathies. I don't want to buy a generic one from a nearby convenience store and send it as is, although I'm sure she'd appreciate even that. I want to write something a little personal for me, just so she knows that this isn't a gesture I would make for anyone. I don't want her to think that I am sending the card for romantic reasons. I am sending this card to her for the same reason I sent her that anonymous bouquet of flowers on the opening night of her very first show – to show my support.

When the show ends and we go back to the apartment, I practice what I want to write on a loose piece of notebook paper before transferring it to the card.

_Tris-_

_I heard about what happened to your parents. I am deeply sorry for your loss, and I regret that my condolences are insufficient. There is nothing I can say to make this easier for you, but I am thinking of you, and I am here if you ever need someone to talk to. Or, in my case, if you need someone to listen to you since I'm a man of few words. I promise that my offer is sincere. You are strong enough to get through this. Be brave, Tris._

_-Four_

I read the letter over and over again. I have to force myself to put it down before I talk myself out of sending it altogether. But I do send it the very next morning. It should arrive at her house in a few days, a week at the latest. I don't give myself the time to stress about it.

A few days later, I'm e-mailing my boss about the assignment he gave me earlier when my phone vibrates on my desk, indicating a text message from Tris.

_-Just got your card in the mail today. Thank you, Four. Thank you so much. I might take you up on your offer someday. Goodnight._

I don't reply. She doesn't need me to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry if the romance between Tris and Four feels like it is building too slowly for you. I promise there is more romance to come. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. See you Saturday!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**September 2012**

"Mommy!" Zeke exclaims unabashedly as he wraps his arms around his mother's waist.

"Ezekiel." She removes his arms and looks him up and down. She evaluates him for anything she can criticize, and her eyes narrow when she finds it. "Tuck in your shirt."

"But I'm not wearing a belt," Zeke says.

"Tuck in your shirt."

She hugs me next as tightly as she hugged Zeke. She looks me up and down as well. "Your shirt is tucked in. I do right by one child, and he's not even mine."

"Might as well be," I tell her.

"Glad you think so because I'm going to start claiming you as my adopted son. I want you in all the upcoming Christmas cards."

"I don't think the Christmas cards are necessary."

"We can negotiate later, but you are coming for the holidays, right?"

"Of course, Hana."

"And Shauna will be with us for the holidays. Will you be bringing anyone special?"

"Don't think so."

Her face falls. "Why not?"

"Don't have anyone special."

"Well why not?"

"No one's caught his eye yet," Zeke chimes in.

Hana sighs. "You're too picky. Always have been. Much too picky."

"I've been picky with  _food_. I don't think my picky food choices apply to this situation."

"Okay. I can tell this is a sensitive subject for you, so I won't say another word about it."

"Thank you."

"Just – '' I knew it wouldn't be this easy for her to stop. "Just promise me that you'll bring someone special one of these days."

"I can't promise that."

"Humor me."

"Fine. I promise."

"Good boy. Now show me around the place, you two."

"We this is it, Ma," Zeke informs her. "This is the living room." He points to the space near the front door. "That's the kitchen." He points to the three doors on the opposite wall. "That's the bathroom in the middle. My room is on the right. Four's room is on the left."

"This is all the space you have?" Hana asks incredulously.

"Well, I'm getting my own place soon," I say.

"All right. I guess this will have to do."

Zeke and I share a look. This will be an interesting weekend.

* * *

**December 2012**

I can't believe I got as drunk as I did last night. My head is pounding. I don't think my head has ever hurt this much. It's Saturday and I don't have any plans, so there really isn't a point in getting up. I just stay rolled on my stomach, my head against the soft fabric of my pillow.

I moved into my own place at the end of October. My new apartment is in the complex a block away from Zeke's, which is only convenient some of the time, like when we make plans to meet up and go to the bar at the corner. However, on the days when Zeke decides to jog over to my apartment in the early morning and pound on the door until I let him in, I wish I lived a city away.

Today is one of those days.

"Morning, sunshine!" he shouts when I finally open the door.

"What do you want?" I growl.

"You're hung-over, aren't you?" he greets cheerily. "No wonder with the drinks you were guzzling last night. I'm surprised you didn't go home with anyone."

"Pretty sure I was too drunk to do anything."

"Even under the haziest intoxication, instinct surges through!"

"Do you have to be so loud?"

"Yes, in fact, I do. It's a part of my fundamental human nature."

"Go fuck yourself."

"You know, it's sad to say that hung-over Four isn't really any different from regular Four."

"Do you have a purpose in coming here, or is it just so you can further exasperate my headache?"

"Yeah, actually. We need to talk about your date tonight."

"What date tonight?" I growl.

"I set you up with one of the interns in my office. Her name's Nita. She's really spirited. Pretty Ambitious. Confident. I think you two could work."

"Zeke, I can't go on a date tonight."

"It won't be so bad."

"I'm hung-over."

"It'll wear off by evening."

"When are you going to start letting me know that you plan on setting me up with someone  _before_ you set me up with someone?"

"I promise this will be the last time I set you up with someone without telling you about it beforehand."

"That's what you said about Lauren."

He pauses thoughtfully. "Oh, yeah. I did, didn't I? Sorry about that."

"It's a little late for your apologies."

"Just go on the date tonight."

"Fine."

"Good. That's out of the way. So you should probably clean yourself up. You look like hell."

I glare at him.

"Okay, I'm leaving!" he exclaims.

* * *

**January 2013**

Nita is very straight-forward in ways that I'm not, which mean she dictates most of what happens in our relationship. She has no problem calling me whenever she wants, inviting me on dates, and subsequently asking which apartment we'll be having sex in that night. We only ever go to hers.

"You know we've been seeing each other for a little over a month, and I still don't know what your real name is."

This isn't the first time she's gone fishing for information about me. Maybe it's a little unfair of me to withhold basic information like my first name for so long, but I don't trust her enough to open up to her just yet.

"That's a conversation for another day."

"Why not today?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Does it have to do with the scars on your back?"

"Nita, drop it."

"You know your tattoo can't cover all of the marks."

"Stop."

"I don't understand why you can't tell me what your first name is! I'm not asking for your whole back story. I haven't even given you mine. I just want to know what your name is, and you can't even give me that one little detail! I don't think I can be in a relationship with someone who's so closed off!"

"Then don't be in a relationship with me," I say.

She freezes. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yeah."

"So I guess we're breaking up?"

"Yeah."

"Then get your shit and go, Four!"

"No problem."

* * *

**February 2013**

"You know, Four, I can set you up with someone for Valentine's Day."

"Why do that when I can just be an awkward third wheel to you and Shauna."

"You won't be an awkward third wheel. If you want to come to the movie with us without a date, then fine. The three of us used to hang out like that together all the time in high school."

"You really won't mind?"

"No. You just can't complain when Shauna and I start making out in the theater like we did in high school."

"God, no. Please don't get us kicked out."

"I'm pretty tempted to. It would embarrass you."

"It would also ruin your weekend with Shauna. She took a whole day off work to come visit us. Don't screw it up."

"Good point."

"I thought you finally had something good with Nita."

"You thought wrong."

"You never told me who ended it. You or her?"

"It was a mutual agreement," I say.

"Okay. Forget I asked."

We see Zero Dark Thirty – the detailed account of the search for Osama Bin Laden; a perfect film for Valentine's Day weekend.

Some of the violence is a little too much for Zeke, but Shauna and I thoroughly enjoy it. Shauna told me that she's already seen the movie with her sister Lynn, but she acts like this is the first time she's seen it, for Zeke's sake. He would be disappointed otherwise.

"That was such a good movie," Shauna says as we walk out of the theater, Zeke's arm slung around her.

"I liked it. Four?"

"Really well done. The effects were great."

"Sure, look at it from a photographer's point of view."

"I  _am_  a photographer."

"Four?"

I turn quickly at the sound of the person's voice. My suspicions are confirmed when I'm met with Tris. She's staring at me while I stare at her.

"Thank God. That would have been so embarrassing if it wasn't you," she says.

"You mean you weren't sure it was me?"

"I was pretty sure, but I haven't seen you in months!"

"I know. You need to be in more Broadway shows. I come to every single one."

"I have an audition next week," she tells me proudly.

"What show?"

"Cinderella."

"Now that's a really big one. I'm sure the New York Times will cover that one. Are you auditioning for the part of Cinderella?"

"Yeah." Her voice is a little shy now, like she's ashamed to tell me she thinks she has a chance at the lead. I don't draw attention to it, but I want to tell her that I think it's very possible for her to be the lead. She's extremely talented, and she's already starred in two major Broadway productions.

"What movie did you just see?" she asks.

"Zero Dark Thirty. You?"

"Haven't seen it yet. I'm about to see Safe Haven with my aunt."

"Ah, the most anticipated romantic film of the year."

"Well it  _is_  Valentine's Day weekend, and my aunt and I didn't have dates, so we figured we'd see it just to see it. If it's good, then great. If it sucks, we can make fun of it together."

"Misery loves company."

We both chuckle at that, and when her smile fades after a minute, I feel brave enough to ask her something that's been on my mind for a while. "How are you, Tris?"

She's not taken aback by the question, but she's obviously reluctant to answer. She meets my eyes defiantly and says, "I'm good."

I tilt my head to the right in disbelief, almost tempted to remind her that although she's a very talented actress, she can't lie about some things.

"Really, I am."

"Good."

"The card you sent when my parents died really meant a lot to me, by the way. Thank you for doing that."

"No problem."

I look back to see Zeke and Shauna wait for me by the door, and I'm sure Tris's aunt is waiting somewhere for her as well.

"I'll let you get back to your movie. I'll be looking out for your role in Cinderella."

"I'll make it easy on you. How about I text you after auditions?"

"Sounds good."

"It was good to see you, Four."

"It was good to see you, too."

I try to wipe the grin off my face before meeting Zeke and Shauna, but that's proving to be an exceedingly difficult task, one that does not go unnoticed by my friends.

"Was that Tris?" Zeke asks knowingly.

"Maybe."

He turns to Shauna. "That was Tris."

"Zeke's really unreliable about this kind of stuff. What's the deal with you and Tris? Zeke won't tell me anything about your relationship."

"That's because we don't have a relationship."

"Fine, then your crush on her."

I gape at her. "I don't have a crush on her."

"That dorky grin you had on her face when you were talking to her says otherwise."

"Drop it, Shauna."

She purses her lips. "Okay. Just remember to come to me if you ever need advice. Don't trust a word Zeke says."

"I already know that."

* * *

I'm researching for an anthropology paper when she texts me.

_-I GOT CINDERELLA!_

_-Good to know Broadway still makes sense._

_-Are you coming to see the show?_

I hesitate.

_-Do you want me to see it?_

_-I asked you, didn't I?_

_-Of course I want to see it. When's opening night?_

_-May 18_ _th_

_-I'll be there_

_-I'll reserve a seat for you._

_-Front row?_

_-We'll see._

It's a bit harder to focus on my research after that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**May 2013**

It's a little too warm to be wearing my best suit this evening, especially since there isn't an exact dress code for Broadway. Some people dress up; some people don't. But tonight I want to look my best.

I don't necessarily have a date with Tris after the show. She texted me after she sent the ticket and once she clarified that I'd only be needing one ticket, she asked if I wanted to go to the opening night party with her to hang out and catch up. I reluctantly accepted her offer.

It's not that I don't want to spend time with Tris. I'm just not exactly sure what I want from this friendship, and I don't know what her intentions are. I'm probably just overthinking this, like I usually do, so this will be a change for me – just letting things happen naturally and on their own accord. No worrying about the future; only enjoying the present.

My breaths quicken at the thought.

My phone buzzes with a text message.

_-Got the flowers! You can stop sending them anonymously. I know they're from you._

I smile.

_-I don't know what you're talking about._

_-Whatever, Four. Thank you!_

I'll meet her aunt tonight, too; we'll sit next to each other during the show. That's one thing I'm not actually nervous about. I seem to get along well with guardians, considering my good relationships with Hana and Shauna's mom, Kelly.

Melanie Wright is the younger sister of Tris's mother. She looks to be in her mid-thirties. She is not married, and from what Tris has told me from our text conversations, she has no desire to be married. She shakes my hand when we meet.

"Nice to finally meet you, Four," she says. "Tris has been talking about you for months."

"And you, Ms. Wright."

"Mel," she corrects.

"Mel."

We take our seats. "You've seen her last two shows, right?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Any on the opening night?"

"I went for  _A Tale of Two Cities_."

"Oh, that was the night I had to work."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a tattoo artist at a place called Tori's Tats. I know you can't see a lot of my tattoos right now with this dress, but I'm covered in them."

"It seems like creativity runs in your family."

She laughs. "It only extends to the women."

"How is Caleb at Princeton?"

She shrugs. "How the hell would I know? That child never calls me. He barely ever calls Tris. I guess it's really busy at Princeton."

"Guess so."

She changes the topic. "So, Tris hasn't really told me much about you two. Are you just friends or…?"

"Just friends," I quickly confirm.

She nods. "Well, it's good to finally get to know one of Tris's friends. She doesn't have much time to make any with how busy she is."

"I'm sure." The thought unsettles me. I'm quickly struck with the feeling that Tris may only be friends with me now because she has no other options. I'm one of the only people she knew, even if it was only a little bit, when she moved here to New York.

But then I think back to every conversation we've had recently, all via text message of course. She initiated every single one. I tell myself that Tris actually enjoys talking to me. I'm not a default; I'm a decision.

The curtain goes up shortly after, and the fairy godmother comes onstage to narrate the story of Cinderella. Stages of a young girl's life play out in front of us, and within the same scene, Tris's Cinderella comes twirling around the stage, wearing a plain beige dress, nothing extraordinary, but her eyes the brightest I've ever seen them.

_I'm as mild and as meek as a mouse_

_When I hear a command I obey._

_But I know of a spot in my house_

_Where no one can stand in my way._

_In my own little corner in my own little chair_

_I can be whatever I want to be._

_On the wings of my fancy I can fly anywhere_

_And the world will open its arms to me._

She looks so happy onstage right now, a different kind of happy than what I saw in the last two productions. She's not acting happy for a scene or smiling to mask underlying apprehension, but I am positive that she is truly happy.

Her eyes meet mine during one of the songs, or at least I think they do. I doubt it's possible for her to focus solely on me, even for a fraction of a second, when there is a whole theater of people in front of her. We must be such an intimidating audience from the Broadway stage.

The first act ends with the transformation of Cinderella by her fairy godmother, from the plain clothes to the beautiful ball gown.

And Tris does look beautiful in it. God, I wish we could take pictures right now.

"So what did you think?" Mel asks during the intermission.

"Great so far. Tris looks so happy."

Mel's smile is bittersweet. "Did you know her mother was on Broadway?"

I'm sure my face shows my surprise. "No, I didn't."

"She was when she was close to Tris's age. Tris was so eager to get this role because it's the one Natalie had when  _Cinderella_  was on Broadway twenty years ago."

"Was she in anything else?"

"Yeah, but Cinderella was her last one before she retired and married Andrew. But she always missed it, kept trying to live vicariously through Tris."

"That happens a lot these days," I say somewhat conversationally. I can't always tell. I'm not the best at that.

"Yeah, it does."

The second and third acts are as entertaining as the first. I find myself laughing at parts I wouldn't expect to laugh at, and I am genuinely enjoying the whole play, not just Tris's parts. But Tris's parts always make it better in some unexplainable way.

Mel and I stand to applaud them at the end of the play. Mel cheers wildly the whole time; I just grin like an idiot. I've been doing that a lot lately when matters involve Tris.

"Have fun at the opening party," Mel says while retrieving her purse.

"You're not coming?"

"I would," she begins with a smirk, "but you're the only one Tris invited."

(xxx)

The opening party for  _Cinderella_  is every bit as loud as the party for  _A Tale of Two Cities_  was. I fumble around the room, overhearing so many different conversations at once that they all start to blend together.

"Four!" Tris exclaims from behind me, and before I can properly turn around, her arms are wrapped around me in a tight hug, but she lets go before I can return the gesture.

"Hey, Tris."

"It's so good to see you."

"You, too. You were amazing up there. There's no way anyone could have been a better Cinderella."

"Thank you."

She's so happy that part of me wonders if she's been drinking, but I realize she's high off the euphoria of a perfect performance.

Loud screams around us remind me that the other actors are pretty carefree, too. She laughs adoringly at her fellow cast members.

"Bit loud, isn't it?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Do you want to go somewhere else? This is way too much of a party for me."

I shrug. "Where would we go?"

She smiles. "Just for a walk, I guess."

I look down at the two of us. She's in a fancy black dress with lace overlay; I'm in my best suit. We're both smiling widely. Anyone who looks at us will think we're crazy. Happy, maybe, but crazy.

"Lead the way," I finally decide.

She grabs my hand and leads me out of the theater. We can still hear the bursting excitement from outside. That party will be going on until the early morning hours. This truly is a city that never sleeps.

Tris doesn't let go of my hand even after we navigate through the sea of people. The night air is a little cooler, but I still have to take my jacket off immediately. Our steps fall in stride with the other, even though Tris's legs are smaller than mine. We don't say anything for a minute, but then I ask something that had been on my mind during the play.

"What's it like for you? Being on stage, I mean."

"It's incredible," she says, meeting my eyes. "But it's absolutely terrifying, and sometimes it's hard to shut the audience out. Sometimes I'll just remember that I'm acting in front of a live audience of thousands of people, and I'll stress myself out about remembering lines and choreography and being sure not to stutter on my words. But when the first night's over, like right now, it's great."

"I'm sure everyone's terrified for the first show."

"One of my friends Christina – she played the stepsister Joy – wasn't scared of the show at all. I couldn't believe her. I was practically clutching the curtain, crippled with anxiety, and she was humming like everything was normal."

"You'd think it would be the other way around, considering how often you've been on stage."

"Yeah, but for all the productions in Chicago, I had my mom with me, and she'd been on Broadway before. She was always a bit like a cheerleader for me, pushing me through."

"Honestly, Tris, how have you been since I last saw you?"

"I'm okay," she says. Her eyes glow with mischief as she turns the question on me.

"And honestly, Four, how have you been?"

"I'm okay," I return with the same tone she used a minute ago.

"You know, we wouldn't have to make small talk if we met up every once in a while. Not just whenever I'm in a Broadway show."

"We could do that."

She grins at me. We're still holding hands. "That means you'll have to call me."

"What, why? Can't you call me?"

"I could," she says slyly, "but once I finish Cinderella, you'll be the busy one. You're the one with an unpredictable job and online courses – what are you getting your degree in again?"

"Anthropology."

"Online courses for anthropology," she starts to add on to previous statement but stops herself and stares at me. "Seriously, anthropology?"

"Yeah," I say, suddenly defensive. "Is there something wrong with anthropology?"

"No," she says quickly. "Of course not. I just want to know what about anthropology fascinates you."

"Well, I just like it."

She nods her head expectantly. "Why?"

"What kind of answer are you looking for?"

"An honest one," she says simply.

"I honestly like it," I reply stubbornly.

She shakes her head good-naturedly. "If you don't want to talk about yourself, we don't have to. I'm not gonna pull teeth for answers here. I get that you're not a big sharer."

"Yeah, I'm not."

"There's nothing wrong with keeping a few pieces of you to yourself."

"If you give them to just anybody, you never know what you're getting into."

She stops our little stroll down the sidewalk and faces me. "That's true, but if you give the pieces to someone really important, it has the potential to be even worse."

I don't have to ask what she means. Losing yourself in someone else is dangerous. Learning to let go, trusting someone, only to find out it was a mistake once the damage has been done.

"That is also true," I whisper.

She purses her lips and smiles. "Then we're both right."

"Looks that way."

"Good."

"Not good."

"Why not good?"

"I don't like to share."

She playfully smacks me with her free hand and we resume walking.

"Do you have a curfew tonight?"

"No, not really. Aunt Mel's spending the night at a friend's house anyways, so it doesn't actually matter."

"Wouldn't want to make a bad impression on your aunt."

"How was she during the show? No inappropriate remarks, I hope."

"Not a single one. Should I have expected that?"

"I don't know. She usually does that. I bet she wrote them all down to go over with me later."

I laugh.

"And no trying to hit on you?"

"Um, no."

"She hit on Prince Charming early on during rehearsals. They went on a date."

"You lost your Prince Charming to your aunt?" I tease, which earns another playful smack on my arm from her.

Our laughter dies down, and our steps slow. I can feel Tris beside me, ready to ask me something, but she doesn't say anything.

"What?" I prompt.

"Honestly," she begins. "I mean it, Four, no lying to spare my feelings. What did you honestly think about my performance, especially compared to the other two you've seen? How was I, really?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly," she affirms.

I take my free hand out of my pocket and reach for hers, gripping both of her hands firmly in my own. She drops her gaze to the ground but returns to meet my eyes when I start to speak. I'm sure she's checking for any sign of dishonestly.

"I was honestly blown away," I tell her. "And everyone around me was, too. You could hear a pin drop in the audience; everyone was watching you. You were absolutely amazing, and I told you before. No one else could have been a better Cinderella."

I see a few tears forming in her eyes, not enough to make them spill over, and I realize the tears must be bittersweet. The smile on her face proves that she is touched by what I said, but I remember what Mel told me earlier, and I suddenly know why she asked the question in the first place.

Leaning in closer to her, ever so slightly, like I'm sharing an intimate secret with her, and in a way I am, I whisper, "Your mom would be proud of it."

She takes a deep breath when I say it, and there's nothing but surprise on her face. Then, as I pull back, she detaches her hands from mine, and I think I've overstepped my boundaries. I've crossed some line in an attempt to reassure her, but then her fingers are pulling on the collar of my shirt, drawing me closer, and her lips are on mine.

I tense at first, unsure of the kiss, but I eventually melt into her. She's not necessarily kissing me hungrily, but it's not exactly chaste either. She pulls away after a few seconds and smiles up at me. I wonder what this means for the two of us and our relationship. I subsequently worry that I'll somehow screw everything up.

She doesn't seem worried. She pats my chest and says, "Thank you."

I guess I'm overthinking everything again. A kiss doesn't always have to mean something. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, at least for one of the parties involved.

I shrug. "Anytime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments, kudos's, etc. I cannot express how appreciative I am for all of you. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I certainly loved writing it. This is also the introduction of my original character, Aunt Mel. She'll be in and out of the story throughout the upcoming chapters. I'll post the next chapter on schedule, Saturday morning.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**June 2013**

I try not to think about the kiss, since it didn't seem to mean as much to Tris as it did to me. Still, every once in a while I'm casually reminded of how it felt to kiss her. And then I'm casually reminded by how much it hurt when she carried on like nothing happened. I wasn't prepared for the sting I felt.

I remember when I ran into Tris months back at the movie theater and Zeke accused me of having crush on her. I adamantly denied the accusation, but now I know I lied. Now I'm sure I have some non-platonic feelings towards Tris, and the ideal situation would be to make a clean break of her.

But that's not an option.

It's especially not an option when Tris intends to keep in touch to avoid awkwardness when we meet up at her shows.

She's been Cinderella for about three weeks now, one show after the other, five days a week. She's going to wear herself out.

My phone vibrates on my desk, and I assume it's a text message from Zeke or Tris so I decide to check it later. But the vibration persists, and I check to see that I have a phone call.

"Hey, Tris."

"Hey, Four. You busy?"

"Not really. Just going over some notes before I take an online test."

"That sounds busy."

"Well not too busy for your call. So what's going on?"

"Do you remember when I told you about my friend Christina?"

"She plays the step-sister Joy," I recall.

"Yes. She had two tickets to go to Citi Field to see the Mets game with her boyfriend, but she just broke up with her boyfriend, so she gave the tickets to me. Bottom line: Do you want to go to the Mets game with me tomorrow?"

"Yeah!" I exclaim. "I love baseball."

"I know you do. Should I just meet you at Citi Field tomorrow?"

"No. Parking's gonna suck. I'll just pick you up."

"Okay. I'll text you my address."

"See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," she promises.

I am so excited to go to the game. So much so that the notes I was studying are lost upon me. It doesn't matter; we get to use our notes on the tests anyways.

I quickly throw on a pair of shoes and jog over to Zeke's apartment. Shauna is visiting him while school's out for the summer, with the promise that she'll move in with him after she finishes her classes for teacher certification and receives her license to teach in the state of New York.

"Guess who's going to the Mets game tomorrow?" I practically shout when Shauna lets me into the apartment.

"Me and Zeke?" she asks uncertainly.

"No," I begin.

"Yes, we are. Zeke got the tickets a couple days ago."

"Seriously?" I ask, my private bubble busted.

"Yeah. Why? Are you going, too?"

"Yeah!"

"Who are you going with?"

"Tris Prior."

Shauna smirks. "Tris Prior? It sounds like I missed a couple things. What's been going on between you two?"

I don't take the bait. I refuse to validate her teasing, and I'm too ecstatic to let her get to me. Shauna recruits Zeke to draw answers from me. I'm quick to refute any statement that says Tris and I are a couple, especially since I haven't told Zeke about the kiss.

"So you and Tris are just friends?" Zeke asks again.

"Yes. So stop harassing me about it. You two can have friends of the opposite sex. Why can't I?"

"We're messing with you, Four."

"Well, stop. Grow up."

"Four, come on, man."

"Look, you can screw with my head over anything else, okay? Just not about Tris. You barely know her, and the two of us are only friends. If things were different and we were dating, then you and I wouldn't be having this conversation."

Zeke's face becomes solemn, and I know I've gotten through to him. Although he jokes around most of the time, he does know when to be serious, and he knows when I want him to be serious. I've always appreciated that about him.

"Yeah, I understand," he says.

I nod my head and leave shortly after, remembering that I still have an online test to take.

* * *

Tris meets me outside of her apartment complex all ready to go. I'm thankful that she's punctual, since I got more of a hold-up than I expected with Zeke and Shauna. The four of us decided to take one car to conserve time spent finding a parking space, and I agreed before I remembered Zeke's habit of arriving fashionably late.

She's looking at her phone, so I have to call her name to get her attention. She smiles when she sees me, tucks her phone into her purse, and greets me with a hug – one that I quickly return. She sits in the passenger seat beside me and cranes her neck to greet Zeke and Shauna.

"Hey, Tris," Zeke says quietly.

Shauna informs Tris, "He's in a shitty mood because Four wouldn't let him sit up front."

Tris turns to me and laughs. "What kind of friend is that?" she asks jokingly.

Zeke perks up. "See! Even Tris is on my side! You know, the girl you reserved the front seat for!"

"You want to sit up front?" I ask.

"Yes!" he exclaims.

"Then you can sit in the passenger's seat on the way back," I purposely pause before adding, "as long as Shauna is driving and Tris and I are in the backseat."

I can see Zeke's glare in the rear view mirror.

"Thanks for picking me up," Tris says after a while.

I smile at her. "Yeah, no problem."

"It really isn't a problem," Shauna says. "It's actually convenient. You're right on the way to Citi Field."

" _Convenience_  is the reason I picked Thing 1 and Thing 2 up," I assure her. "It wouldn't have been a problem to pick you up, even if you lived an hour away in the opposite direction."

I hope I'm not imagining the blush on her cheeks.

* * *

Our tickets are for different seats, so the four of us split into the two couples. Tris holds my hand, locking each of her fingers into mine, as we find our seats. I try not to think too much of it. I try to relax into her, but it's difficult to let myself when I know that I feel strongly about her, but she has no idea about the affect she has on me.

"I know you played little league, but did you play any baseball later on?"

I nod. "All through senior year of high school."

"Any other sports?"

"Football in high school."

"I bet you were great at it."

"Average." She lets go of my hand to put her purse under her seat, and I miss her warmth. "What about you? Did you play sports?"

"I ran track freshman year, but I had to quit. Too busy."

"What grade did you skip?" I ask her.

"11th. I took courses during the summer that gave me enough credits to graduate a year early."

Tris stays to look after our seats while I retrieve snacks for the game. I end up buying more than I intended to, but I want to have the full baseball game experience. And this is a pivotal game in this year's baseball season.

Tris laughs when she catches sight of me struggling to balance the hot dogs, nachos, pretzels, popcorn, and sodas.

"I think we're good for the rest of the game."

"Probably," I agree as I hand her the sodas. She gives the plastic cups a quizzical look. "Don't worry, I got you your coke," I assure her. "Wouldn't want to risk you going into shock if I served you Pepsi."

"You're the best."

I look shyly at the ground at her comment. Sometimes I wish she wouldn't throw compliments around like they have no weight, like they're so easy to hand out when kind words are so hard for me to accept.

"So do you have any ground rules for the game?"

"Ground rules?" I ask, furrowing my brow.

She takes a sip of her soda. "Yeah, you know, like certain parts of the game when you don't want me to speak at all in fear of distraction. Does baseball have any superstitious rituals like hockey does that I need to be aware of?"

"I guess the only rule is not to cheer for the Yankees."

She rolls her eyes. "I knew that," she says. "But I don't get it. They're both New York teams. And we're not even from New York!"

"The Mets were always my favorite."

We pass the popcorn and pretzels between the two of us, alternating harmoniously when one of us starts to crave the other. We share the nachos once we finish our hot dogs, and the game is just a minute away from beginning.

"I know I should be really bummed for Christina since she just broke up with her boyfriend, but I'm so happy we got to do this."

"Me, too."

We stand for the national anthem, customary at sports games. The flag flies above us, and it's really something to see over forty-thousand people standing at once. I've never been a part of a crowd this large before. I hear Tris humming the Star Spangled Banner beside me. I'm hypnotized, once again, by the sound of her voice.

After we sit back down, I impulsively put my arm around Tris and pull her closer to me, whispering in her ear, "That's gonna be you singing the national anthem one day."

She looks up at me, and I fully realize how well she communicates with her eyes. It's something that makes her an excellent actress.

"And you can take my picture," she whispers back.

"I'll do that now," I tell her, pulling my pulling my phone out of my pocket and switching it to the front camera. I usually keep a small camera with me as well, but I was running out of time today. "Come on. We have to document this. We have to let the world know that we are witnessing one of the biggest baseball games before the World Series, and we are having fun doing it."

She leans closer to me, and it's an excuse to put my arm back around her. She pushes her cheek against mine, and we are so close, that I can actually feel her smiling next to me. She has to sit up a little taller in her chair to reach my height, but we make it work, and we end up taking several different pictures with different poses. I decide to leave my phone out beside me in case I want to start taking pictures again.

"Remember to send those to me."

"I will."

She takes my hand in hers again halfway through the game.

"Shit. I forgot the foam finger," I mutter.

"What?"

"I was gonna get you a foam finger when I went to get the snacks. I guess I forgot while I was up there."

"Good. You could barely hold onto all those snacks."

I scoff. "I was doing just fine."

"Uh-huh," she says accusingly.

"I was. I have really big hands," I tell her. "Good for gripping things."

She hums before removing her hand and outlining the palm with her fingers. She slowly lines her hand against mine and analyzes the obvious difference in size.

"Your hands are so small," I whisper.

"No. Yours are huge. And besides, I'm not done growing yet."

"How often do you use that excuse?"

"Anytime someone accuses me of being small."

"It's not a bad thing. And what would you prefer? Petite, maybe?"

"Petite's a nice word," she says. "It's French."

"Did you take French in school?"

She shakes her head. "Italian. You?"

"Spanish, like every other kid who only wanted to get the credits for graduation."

"Did you take photography classes in school?"

"A couple." When she doesn't say anything, I add, "I wanted to take more, but my father had to approve my schedule, and he wanted me to take more instructional classes than electives. He wanted me to increase my GPA."

"Yeah, I remember you said your dad had high expectations of you. How'd he take you pursuing a career in photography?"

"Not well." I don't elaborate. She doesn't ask me to.

In the end, the Mets don't win the game. They've trailed behind the Yankees for most of the innings, and although I'm a little disappointed because I know my boss Amar won't let me hear the end of it when I go back to work, the blow is softened by Tris nuzzled against me. I don't even know exactly when she fell against my side, but I'm not complaining.

I drop Zeke and Shauna off at their apartment first with no complaints from Zeke about having to sit in the backseat. He was too busy complaining about the Mets' performance. Shauna did her best to console him.

When we arrive at Tris's apartment complex, I park the car in the visiting space for her apartment, silently offering to walk her up instead of plainly dropping her off.

"I'm sorry the Mets didn't win," she says outside of the door.

I shrug. "It's not like you had any control over it."

"And they were doing so well earlier in the season."

"I didn't know you were following them."

"I wasn't until we got the tickets yesterday. I figured I'd get to know a couple things about them since I was going to the game. I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of you."

"I don't think you're capable of looking like an idiot."

"I guess you'll just have to spend some more time with me and find out for yourself."

"Sounds fair."

"Yes, and we've now met up at Broadway shows and very important baseball games. Do you want to try something a little simpler next time?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I'm not doing anything on Sunday, and Aunt Mel is going to Atlantic City with some of her friends for the weekend. You could come over here for a movie, and we could order some takeout, just hang out." She seems kind of nervous when she suggests this, and I wonder if she feels for me even a fraction of what I feel for her.

I see her standing in front of me, leaning back against the door to her apartment. She braided her hair early on in the game because she was frustrated with the wind blowing it in her face. It was an amusing display. She looks up at me expectantly, and I realize that she's still waiting for my answer. My hesitation is only increasing her nervousness.

"Yeah. We could do that. Just text me a time."

She smiles and uses her foot to push her off the door. "I'll send you the time when you send me those pictures you took."

"Deal."

Then she kisses me. Slower than before and shorter, too. She kisses me like she's done it a hundred times, like it's a completely normal thing to do. And sure enough, I feel comfortable with her doing it.

"Goodnight," she says.

"Goodnight."

The first time we kissed, I thought she just got caught up in the moment. After all, she had just given the best performance of her career so far, and we were talking about her mother at the time.

But now, standing outside of her apartment, I realize there's nothing to attribute this kiss to other than that she wanted to kiss me.

I can't stop smiling now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

I dress casually for movie night at Tris's apartment. Sunday is the only day off work this week for both of us, and I can't think of a way I'd rather spend it.

However, our evening might hit a few bumps in the road when I bring up certain topics that I desperately need to discuss with her. The most important topic on tonight's agenda: She's kissed me twice and hasn't said one word about it since.

Then again, I haven't said one word about the kiss either, but since she was the one who initiated both kisses, I feel like she should be the one to state her intentions.

She greets me with a hug at the door, her arms fitting naturally around my waist and mine finding a home in hers, before she invites me in.

The apartment she shares with her aunt is very comfortable. They've maximized their space. It's a little larger than the apartment I shared with Zeke when I first moved here. I take my shoes off by the front door, adjusting my feet to the cream-colored carpet. I notice pictures on the wall behind me, pictures of the family. The picture I notice first is Tris's senior portrait, the portrait I took.

"Do you wanna order food now? That way it can get here when we're ready to start the movie."

"Yeah. That sounds good."

She walks over to the kitchen counter to collect the menu for the Chinese place. "I'd offer you wine, but Mel took it all with her," she says.

"And I'd hate to be a bad influence on a minor."

She rolls her eyes. "Please. Mel  _encourages_ alcohol consumption."

"I don't know about your aunt as a guardian."

Tris laughs. "You sound like my dad when I moved out here. He was so completely against it. But since I didn't need that much supervision and could be left to myself, he was okay with it."

"And you turn eighteen in a few weeks," I remind her.

"I know!" She beams. "I'm so excited even though nothing's gonna change because of it!" She hands me the menu.

"What do you want for your birthday?" I ask.

She pauses thoughtfully. "That's something I'm gonna have to think about. I'll get back to you."

"Good, because I'm running low on ideas. You haven't mentioned wanting anything."

"That's because I don't really want anything," she says. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty content right now. You don't have to get me anything."

"How about a birthday dinner?" I say bravely – well, bravely for me. "You pick the restaurant; I'll make the reservation, and then we can do whatever you want afterwards."

"I'll definitely take you up on that," she says.

I pour both of us a glass of water while Tris orders the food. After our order is placed, Tris directs me over to their entertainment center to pick a movie. She insists that it has to be my choice. She's completely indifferent about the movie we watch.

My eyes immediately drift to one movie in particular, but I don't want to explain the significance of it, even though I add it to the selection. I end up holding two DVDs behind my back to have Tris choose my left or right hand. She chooses the left – The Brady Bunch Movie. She picks the movie to inspect closely.

"The Brady Bunch?" she asks, obviously surprised. "That was one of your options?"

I'm quick to think of an excuse for it. "Well, all you practically have here are musicals. You didn't give me much of a choice."

"What did you have in your right hand?"

I hold up the DVD case. "Mamma Mia."

She smiles and takes the movie from me to set up. While she's facing away from me, I force myself to bring up the topic festering in the back of my mind.

"Hey, Tris?"

"Yeah?"

"You kissed me after the Mets game." I don't mean for the statement to sound accusatory, but she takes it as such.

She quickly turns back to face me and crosses her arms in front of her. "Only because you didn't pull away when I kissed you after  _Cinderella_."

"I'm not saying I minded it."

"Then why bring it up?" she demands. "What  _are_  you saying?"

"I'm not saying something as much as asking something." She leans back against the wall, arms still crossed in front of her, glaring at me defiantly while she waits for an answer. "And my question is: what are we?"

She unfolds her arms and takes a step forward from the wall. "We are…testing the waters."

"Testing the waters?" I repeat in amusement. I'm not well-practiced in interpreting vague statements. "What does that mean?"

She sits on the sofa in front of the entertainment center and props herself up with her knees, tucking her feet under her body. She pats the cushion beside her and invites me to sit. When I do, she takes my hand in hers, weaving her fingers into mine.

"You know how when you go swimming in the summer, you dip your feet in the water to test the temperature before you jump all the way in?" I nod. "That's what we're doing, if that's okay with you," she adds nervously.

I'm not good with words. So I kiss her. I press my lips to hers firmly, resting my palm against the soft skin of her neck and digging my fingers into her hair. We only break the kiss when we're reminded of our need for oxygen. We're both breathing heavily when I rest my forehead against hers, but her smile proves that she doesn't need verbal affirmation; my actions speak louder than words.

* * *

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, Dear Tris, happy birthday to you," I sing as she lets me into her apartment, a bouquet of roses in my hand. The deep red of the roses matches the deep red of the dress she wears.

"Thank you," she says before leaning on her tip toes to kiss me. She has one hand on my chest and the other rests around the back of my neck. It takes Mel's footsteps from the kitchen to break us apart.

"Hey, Four," Mel greets cheerily.

"Mel."

She reveals a camera behind her back. "Mel, don't!" Tris exclaims.

"Please, Tris!" she begs. They must have discussed this before I came. "I have to have a picture of you two. You're just too cute. Four, you don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not."

Tris playfully glares at me, but the stern expression dissipates, and the two of us are posing against the wall, hugging each other's side.

"Now, can I videotape?" Mel asks.

"No!"

Mel groans a groan that reminds me of a stereotypical teenager annoyed with her mother. "Why not? I never got prom pictures from you! You finished school by mail!"

"We have a reservation to go to anyways," Tris says, turning to me. "Don't we?"

"Yes." I hold her closer to my side for one last picture and then lean down to whisper in her ear, "You look great."

She looks up at me and smiles shyly. She reaches up to adjust my tie. "So do you."

Mel takes the roses from Tris to put in a vase and wishes the two of us a good time. I make a conscious effort to do everything right. I open the car door for her, and I'm absolutely terrified of slamming the door on her feet.

I take her to an Italian restaurant, Zia Maria's, and we never run out of stuff to talk about. This is an important date for me, one that I planned, not one that Zeke sprung on me at the last minute, so I actually prepared topics to talk about and questions to answer.

I don't need them tonight.

Tonight everything comes easily. It's still a challenge for me to offer personal details, and I do avoid it to the best of my ability, but I can feel myself starting to trust Tris more and more. And when I start to trust someone, I start to give pieces of myself to that person. I usually fear trusting someone new, but the way Tris smiles at me from across the table, and the way she looks at me like I'm worth something, I don't seem to fear anything.

* * *

We sit in the car outside of Zeke and Shauna's apartment complex. It's the last Saturday of June 2013, which means that I have officially completed my bachelor's degree in anthropology. Four years of studying – it hasn't exactly sunk in that it's over yet. Zeke and Shauna offered to host a graduation party for me in their apartment. I only invited the two of them and Tris.

But Zeke and Shauna do not know I have invited Tris. Zeke and Shauna do not know  _anything_  about Tris.

"Are we going in?" Tris teases.

"Yeah, but just to prepare you, I've got to warn you about Zeke." I struggle to find the best way to explain my surrogate brother. "Zeke can be very…"

Tris smiles knowingly. "Remember," she says. "I'm friends with Uriah. I know what to expect."

I feel my cheeks instantly redden with the smirk Zeke gives me when I walk into the apartment with Tris. He slaps a hand on my back. "Four!" he exclaims. "And Tris! Good to see you, Tris."

"You, too."

Shauna's face when she sees Tris is priceless; there's a lot of confusion and hopefully a little bit of joy, if I'm reading her countenance correctly. She quickly masks it for the sake of politeness, but Tris is good at making friends. I know Tris enough to know that she's actually an introverted person, but she has just enough extraversion to come across that way, so she and Shauna are hitting it off very soon after reintroductions.

Zeke hands me a beer. "So…you and Tris?"

I take a sip. "Uh-huh."

"And are you two…?"

"We are testing the waters," I purposely repeat the phrase Tris assigned to our relationship a few weeks back, since she has not mentioned anything else. We haven't discussed it since. I want to talk about the two of us officially starting a relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend, but then I remember that she's almost four years younger than me, so she won't want the same things at the same time I do.

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"It's a nice way of saying we're not official."

"So you're not officially dating a minor?"

"She turned eighteen last week," I inform him with a smirk of my own.

"I'm excited for you. You know, since I'm more invested in your sex life than you are."

"I doubt that."

"Eh, maybe." We both look over when Shauna and Tris burst out laughing. "Keep me in the loop about you two. I want to know what happens. I want to know when I can actually congratulate you on being in a steady, committed relationship."

I roll my eyes and take another sip of my beer. "I really wanted to say 'look who's talking', but then I remembered that you've been with Shauna for five years."

"Fuck yeah! I can't believe out of the two of us, I'm the one with stability."

"You can't?" I ask inquisitively.

"Oh, yeah. Well, maybe not. With your background, I guess it was kind of predictable."

We stay at the apartment for a few hours. It's strange to me that I'm driving to and from their apartment when my own place is only a couple blocks away, but Tris's apartment is in the opposite direction. I take the keys to the car out of my pocket when I notice Tris climb into the driver's seat.

"What are you doing?" I ask her.

"I'm driving," she says matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

"You've been drinking."

"I had one beer."

"You had two," she argues.

"I started to have a second one, but I wasn't even close to finishing it. Tris, I'm fine to drive. I'm not drunk," I say, suddenly annoyed.

She shakes her head, tearing her attention from me to the landscape in front of her. She says, "You're not driving. You've been drinking."

Her voice has a sternness that I haven't heard before, and then I remember that her parents were killed by a drunk driver. Even though I'm far from drunk, I guess any amount of alcohol makes her wary now.

"Okay," I agree. "You're driving." I kiss her temple before she starts the car.

"Thank you."

The traffic is heavier than usual while we're driving. It doesn't make sense that there would be something similar to rush hour on the weekend.

"I don't think I really congratulated you on your degree," Tris says while waiting for the light to turn green, although it's obvious that we won't be moving very far when it does.

"You congratulated me," I remind her. "Remember, on the couch at your apartment?"

She glares me, and it's amusing because I know she's not really mad. She can't be, if the flaming blush on her cheeks indicates anything. She was very congratulatory while we were busy exploring the expanse of each other's mouths with our tongues. It was a very enjoyable afternoon.

"Well, I never said anything."

"Not words anyways. Just sounds."

She rolls her eyes. "Like you didn't," she says. "And anyways, what I'm trying to say is congratulations. And I'm proud of you. You worked really hard for your degree."

"Thank you," I say seriously.

"What are you gonna do now? Do you think you'll stay with the Times, or will you look for something more anthropology-based?"

"Oh, well, I might go for my master's degree."

She stares at me wide-eyed. "You just finished school, and you want to go back?" she asks.

"Well, I'm going to apply to National Geographic again, and if I don't get a job there, then I'll go back for my master's, or maybe even an associate's degree in sociology."

She nods carefully, her fingernails digging into the steering wheel, probably with the impatience of being stuck at this streetlight. "W-where's National Geographic based?" she asks.

"Washington."

"State or city?"

"City. Washington D.C. I've always wanted to work for National Geographic."

"You'd be great at that," she says, but there's something about her voice that I can't put my finger on. I don't call her out on it. She's always entitled me to my secrets; she's allowed to have hers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**July 2013**

Tris sends me brownies on my birthday. I have to work today, so I knew she'd most likely try something, but I wasn't expecting a basket of brownies to be delivered to my desk when I came into work. At least she didn't send the quartet she'd been threatening.

Still, everyone peeks out of their cubicles and offices to see who in their right mind would send me brownies since I'm not exactly the most amiable person at work. It also seems like everyone wants to see if there are enough baked goods to go around.

"You never told me you had a girlfriend," Amar says as I offer him a brownie.

I sigh. "I don't. We're not official."

"Why not?"

I shrug. "I don't really know. I'm just waiting for her to say something about it."

His mouth is stuffed with the treat as he speaks. "Why don't you say something?"

"I'm not very good with that."

He almost chokes from laughing so hard. "That's an understatement."

Amar lingers a little longer after he eats his brownie. "Sick of your job yet?" he asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You're one of our best photographers, but right now, since you haven't exactly been here very long, we've only kept you as a national photographer. You also have a background in reporting, which is even better for your career in photojournalism. Now, I'll just get to the whole point of this: I want to promote you to international reporting."

My heart speeds up. This is an amazing opportunity. "Really?"

"Yeah. You're pretty young for the job, but everything you've done for us is great, and we can't wait to see what you continue to do," he says before adding. "Your pay will substantially increase, of course."

"My salary doesn't matter."

He laughs. "Don't tell me that. I'll start to take advantage of you."

"Thank you, sir. This is incredible."

"So you'll take the job, then?"

"Yes. Definitely."

I shake his hand, and he leaves my office after we finish discussing the details. I'm left at my desk, my hands cradling my face as I replay everything that just happened. I wasn't expecting the promotion at all, but it's exactly the kind of break in my career I've been looking for.

I feel high off of my happiness, and the sensation is unprecedented. I don't want it to end anytime soon, so it doesn't surprise me when I think of a way to keep my excitement going, and my mind shifts automatically to Tris.

* * *

There's a lot more international news than national news, and there are only so many photographers on call, so when civil war breaks out in Syria, I'm sent there for the rest of the week.

Zeke drives me to the airport. I don't get to see Tris in person before I leave since her agent, Peter, got her an audition for the musical rendition of  _Legally Blonde_. I don't think she was all that interested in the part.

The damage in Syria is devastating. There's a lot of press here, taking picture after picture, wanting to help relieve the catastrophe, but knowing that all we can really do is let everyone else know about the events. I'm eager to get back to New York.

I decide to surprise Tris and go straight to her apartment. My adrenaline's high from my fear of flying, so I barely register the time difference. It's ten o'clock in New York City, and I start to regret my decision when a disgruntled Tris answers the door.

Her hair is messy, and her clothes are crumpled, and her eyes are heavy with sleep, but she launches herself into my arms and wraps me in a tight hug.

"I didn't know you were back!" she exclaims. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just got back. I came straight here." Pulling back and examining her, I add regretfully, "Maybe I should have gone to my place first. Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter." She waves my action off. "Just be thankful you didn't wake Mel."

I laugh. "Yeah, your aunt scares me." She keeps her hands on my shoulders, and I loosely hold her by her waist. "Do you want to get some brunch? Well, brunch for me; breakfast for you."

"Sounds great. Just let me change first."

I don't know how long I should expect her to take to get ready, so I make myself comfortable on the living room sofa. There's a copy of William Shakespeare's  _As You Like It_  opened face down on the coffee table. I'm careful to remember the page she's on and read a few lines. I haven't read any of Shakespeare's plays since high school, but I remember the plot of every one of them.

Tris comes out of her bedroom a few minutes later, dressed for brunch. She takes the book from me and sets it back on the table.

"Shakespeare?" I ask.

" _As You Like It_  is coming to Broadway," she says.

"I didn't know there was a musical for it."

"There isn't. I want to audition for a regular play, and since it's Shakespeare, it's kind of hard to understand, so I'm getting an early start."

I smile. "What part are you planning to try out for?" I ask, even though I'm pretty confident of what her answer will be.

"Rosalind." When she sees my knowing smirk at her auditioning for the lead, she quickly adds, "Or Celia."

"When are auditions?"

"Not until November. The play's set for January."

"I actually liked the Shakespeare unit in school. I didn't really like to read it, but I liked to talk about it in class."

"Then you'll have to help me practice."

"Of course." I kiss her. "Are you ready to go?"

She bites her lip – a habit that I doubt she's aware of – and nods her head.

* * *

"Are you and Tris still 'testing the waters'?" Zeke asks with air quotes. "Because you didn't look very 'testing the waters' when we had you over for dinner last week."

"You mean, have things changed since the last time you asked me?" I growl.

"Well, you're in a pissy mood. I guess I just got the answer to my question."

"I'm pretty sure I'll let you know if things change between us."

"Man, I'm not trying to be pushy or rude or anything. It's your life, and I don't like to meddle with it."

"You  _love_ to meddle with it," I say with a sarcastic laugh.

"Okay, some days I need entertainment. Sorry. But what are you and Tris waiting for?"

"I don't even know."

"I figured that out, but  _shouldn't_  you? Since you're one-half of this unofficial relationship, shouldn't you know?"

"Tris will tell me when she's ready to commit."

"I thought you hadn't talked about it since the whole 'testing the waters' speech two months ago."

"We haven't. We just go with the flow."

"How do you 'go with the flow'? Like what are you right now? Fuck buddies? Friends with cuddling benefits? What do you two do?"

"We're sort of dating. We go on dates, but we're not in a relationship."

"And you're not seeing anyone else?"

"No."

"Is she seeing anyone else?"

I want to say no immediately, but I'm not sure. "I don't know."

"I recommend you find out before you get too invested."

_Too late._

* * *

Tris doesn't speak to me at all on the anniversary of her parents' death. I'm not offended by it. I probably know better than anyone that she needs her time, but I want to be there for her and make sure she's okay. I'm not exactly great at doing that; many of my attempts at comfort aren't exactly comforting, but Tris is the kind of person to appreciate the gesture.

She calls me the next day and we chat idly, not really talking about the gravity of the event yesterday.

She takes a deep breath towards the end of her phone call. "I talked to Caleb yesterday."

"Yeah? How'd that go?"

"Okay. He hung up when he started crying. Too proud."

"If I recall correctly, so are you," I say lightly.

"Yeah." She laughs. She's silent for a minute, but I know she's still there. "Four, I know you don't generally like to talk about yourself, but could you make an exception? I'm kind of a wreck here, and it's not even the anniversary of their death today."

I hear her voice break. Of course she's still this upset. It's only been a year since her parents died. I take a deep breath and give in to her request.

"I used to go over to Zeke and Uriah's house a lot," I say. "I practically lived there. Anyways, they had this cat when we were young, and the cat and I  _hated_ each other. It was really bad. It all started when I was six, and Zeke introduced me to it – Domino was her name – and I went to pet her on the back, and she bit me."

"She bit you?"

"Uh-huh. Bit my wrist and drew blood. I didn't even do anything to provoke her. She just attacked me."

"Oh, my God."

"And the feud between us continued. She'd hiss at me, and I'd growl at her. She'd scratch me, and I'd yell at her. It was really bad. A terrible relationship. That cat drew out the animal in me. No big deal; I always preferred dogs anyways."

"Me, too."

I tell her a few more anecdotes like that, sticking mostly to experiences I shared with Zeke and Uriah, not ready to divulge information about my family history yet. If her laughs at the end of the conversation are anything to go by, it's enough for now.

* * *

**August 2013**

"Ammunition depot exploded in Homs, Syria. I need you on the next flight out. I've got your flight information here," Amar tells me over the phone.

"When do I need to be at the airport?"

"Flight leaves at 3 AM."

"How long will I be there?"

"Not sure yet. I need you to be the correspondent while this war is breaking news. You've already been there and photographed there."

"Okay," I say unsurely.

"And I'm sending you with a reporter."

"Why? I'm a photojournalist. I can report and photograph."

"And you're also new to international reporting. The reporter I'm sending you with is very experienced."

"What's the name?"

"Eric. Eric Jennings. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," I reply firmly, and he hangs up.

I call Tris to give her the news. We had plans to see a movie tonight.

"Hey, Tris, I got assigned to Syria again. I'm flying out in the morning."

"Really? It's so short notice."

"Ammunition depot exploded. 40 dead and even more critically injured."

"Oh, my God. That's terrible."

"Yeah."

"Are you going to be safe?"

"There's a lot of caution for the media."

"That's not very reassuring."

"I'll be fine," I say with a smile, even though she can't see it.

"How long will it take you to pack?" she asks.

"Not long. I'm not taking very much over there."

"Do you want to come over like we planned anyways? We don't have to go out. We can stay in, and it can be brief. I just want to see you before you leave."

"No problem. I'll be there soon."

* * *

We're in the kitchen of her apartment, eating chocolate chip cookies from her friend Christina. She's leaning her back against the edge of the counter, and I'm in front of her, keeping her boxed in with my body.

"How long are you gonna be there?"

"I don't know. My boss doesn't have a definitive answer."

"Well, call me when you can. I know you'll be really busy." She steps forward to give me a hug, and I rub my hand consolingly up and down her back. She's admitted to me in the past how much she hates to say good-bye. "And be careful," she stresses.

"I will."

She moves her hands from the back of my neck to cup my face, standing on the tips of her toes to press her lips to mine. She kisses me long and hard, and when I dare to break the firm barrier between her lips, she abruptly pulls back. My grip on her tightens. Our breaths are heavy, and our faces are so close to each other that I feel every inhale and exhale. The closeness does little to tame my racing heart.

"See you soon," she whispers breathlessly.

I don't acknowledge her farewell. I kiss her again. I kiss her longer and harder than she kissed me, finally parting her lips with my tongue and letting my hands get lost in her hair. I press her further into the edge of the counter top, and I'm sure it's painfully digging into her skin, so I lift her on top of it. I pull back teasingly like she did a minute ago. "See you soon."

This time it's impossible to say who leans in first. I don't care. Right now I can't focus with Tris's hand creeping up my shirt, heating the flesh of my back. I wonder if she can feel the scars. It worries me for a second, but eventually I'm too mesmerized by intense pleasure to care.

I reciprocate the action, lifting up her t-shirt to find that she has a tank top on underneath – another frustrating layer of clothing – so I pull her shirt off altogether, the second layer stripped off accidentally.

My shirt follows shortly after, and when I start to fiddle with the straps of her bra, she takes my hand and meets my eyes. Her eyes dart to the hallway, more specifically to the closed door of her bedroom, silently asking me if I want to continue our little farewell someplace more comfortable. I nod my head, and she jumps from the counter top, her hand still in mine, leading me to her bedroom. I close the door behind us. We don't come out for the rest of the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

I set the alarm on my phone for one o'clock in the morning, and it wakes both of us up. She's nuzzled against me when we wake, and she's too tired to form coherent sentences, so it's mostly mumbles and one-word dialogue between the two of us. I throw on my clothes and kiss her chastely before I leave. I stumble around loudly, but I don't have to worry about waking Mel; she's out clubbing with friends.

I can feel the ridiculously wide grin on my face while driving to the airport. I have to get that under control before I'm around people. I'm happier than I care to admit from our impromptu night. Now, leaving without knowledge of my return doesn't sound like an adventure; it sounds like a nightmare.

I meet Eric on the plane. He's not very amiable, but then again, neither am I. However, I'm far more amiable today than I usually am.

Eric's first instruction to me is to remind me not to get in his way. "Just take the pictures I tell you to. I've got the hard part. All you have to do is click your camera."

I snicker, but I don't bother to challenge him. There's no point in correcting his ignorance.

There's turbulence on the flight, which makes it worse than it already is when I remember the height. I try not to look too uncomfortable; I don't want Eric to know about my fear of heights.

* * *

**August**

The violence in Syria has escalated since I was last here. However, we also see many different relief efforts from so many countries, so I don't feel as hopeless as I did right after the initial acts of civil war.

Eric doesn't warm up to me during our correspondence, which has been three and a half weeks so far. It's no matter to me; I hope we never have to work together again.

Phone calls to Tris are not as frequent as I'd like, especially with the way we left things. I can only really call her a couple of times a week when she's just waking up.

"You're the only person I can talk to before I have coffee," she says.

"Really, Tris? Coffee? You'll stunt your growth."

"Was that a short joke?"

"No."

"I think it was. It sounded like a short joke."

"I think you're just self-conscious."

"I'm still growing," she defends lightheartedly, the same mantra she's said since I met her two years ago, probably even before then.

"You can't keep saying that. You're eighteen now. I'm pretty sure you're done growing."

"Bastard," she mutters.

"Should I call back when you're nicer?"

"No. Talk to me now. How is everything?"

"Everything's okay."

"Any idea when you're coming back?"

"No," I lie. I was given the green light to go back to New York this morning. My ticket's set for me to return tomorrow evening Eastern Time, and I want to surprise Tris like I did the first time I came back from Syria. "Listen. I got to go. I'll talk to you soon," I smile smugly to myself when I don't specify.

"Okay. Talk to you soon."

* * *

I take a cab from the airport to my apartment to drop my luggage off and freshen up before I drive over to see Tris, mulling over a few things in my solitude.

Tris and I haven't talked about the night we slept together. That's something I want to change tonight. We've barely discussed anything's that's happening between us; I have a feeling that communication will never be one of our strong suits.

But tonight I want to officially start a relationship with Tris. I'm somewhat confident and extremely hopeful that she will accept the offer, but I'm also nervous. I feel the familiar anxiety in the pit of my stomach that seems to unveil itself when Tris is involved. I know that I will likely choke on my words if I prepare a speech, so the only plan I make is to be spontaneous. I'll let the night's natural progression affect the details.

The sky is painted with hues of pink and orange, a final showy display before the sun retires completely for the night. If I wasn't trapped in my car during rush hour, I'd take a picture of it. Lately, I've been more inspired to expand my recreational photography.

I park in the visitor's spot and walk quickly up to Tris's apartment. I knock on her door, and when Tris lets me in, it's not the environment I expected. She hugs me immediately when she realizes it's me, shrieking excitedly and pulling me close, but I look over her shoulder and see a man sitting on the living room sofa. His feet are propped up on the coffee table, and there's a glass of wine beside him. He's looking at me like  _I'm_ the outsider.

I hear her asking me question after question about how my flight was, when I returned, scolding me for not calling her when I landed.

I don't respond to anything she says. I've zeroed in on the man on the couch. "Who's this?"

She quickly turns around, like she forgot he was here at all. "Oh, Four, this is my agent Al." Al stands up to shake my hand.

"Uh-huh. I thought your agent's name was Peter."

"Yeah," her voice sounds unsure, probably because I sound so accusatory. "But I fired him a couple of weeks ago. I hired Al last week. We had only corresponded over the phone, so I invited him over for dinner tonight to meet in person."

"I'm happy to take her on," Al says. "She's really talented."

"Yeah, I know," I say through gritted teeth.

"Four," Tris starts.

"No," I tell her tightly. "Just wanted to drop by. I'll be going now."

"Four, wait."

I don't. I leave as suddenly as I came. Tris only calls after me a few times. I'm sure it was an awkward situation for her. A part of me wishes that I didn't surprise her so the night could go how I planned, but I am glad that I found out about Tris's commitment, or lack thereof, sooner rather than later.

I go to Zeke's apartment for a drink. It works out well since Shauna's out running errands before she goes to a friend's baby shower. Zeke knows me well enough not to ask why I'm not in the best of spirits. After a few drinks, I'll tell him on my own.

Tris calls shortly into my visit at Zeke's. I ignore her call, which does not go unnoticed by Zeke.

"So," he starts. "What's going on with Tris? Never known you to miss a call from her."

"Surprised her at her apartment. Caught her with a guy. She said it was her agent, Al."

"What's wrong with meeting up with her agent?" Zeke asks.

"It's not about meeting with her agent. But, I mean, they were in her apartment, chilling on the couch, talking over dinner and wine. It was like I walked in on a date."

"And I'm guessing you didn't talk to her about it?"

"No, I left. It was pretty obvious what she was doing. She wasn't as serious about this as I was."

"Bullshit," he mutters.

"What?"

"Bullshit!" he exclaims more clearly. "You're acting like a goddamn kid right now."

"She was with a guy!" I defend.

"Her agent! And I bet you're so happy that you just happened to walk in on it."

"Do I  _look_  like I'm happy?" I demand, taken aback by his sudden outburst.

"Oh, yeah!" he exclaims. "I know you're happy."

"I'm not happy about any of this!"

"You  _are_  happy," he repeats. "Deep down, some twisted part of you is happy because you, Four, are a special kind of masochist. And you felt yourself getting close to Tris; you felt a healthy relationship starting, and you couldn't handle it. You couldn't let yourself take that chance, and I understand why you couldn't, but you need to get your act together. Tris will not intentionally hurt you, and you know that."

"She hurt me tonight."

"Did you ever think that she was telling the truth?" he shouts. "I'm sure you did, but walking in on Tris and Al gives you a way out. It's an excuse for you to be a complete asshole to the point where Tris pushes you away. You can't do that. You can't let yourself suffer like this. You and Tris can be good for each other."

I don't respond. I don't want to believe what he's saying, and I have a feeling that he isn't done lecturing me yet.

"Now I let you be closed-off with Nita and Lauren and every other girlfriend before her, but I don't want you to screw this up. You have to let Tris in a bit."

"I  _have_  let Tris in," I remind him.

"She doesn't even know your real name."

"I'm sure she does. It's published in the paper."

"But  _you_  haven't told her. It's one thing for me to call you Four. I'm the one who came up with the name, and I've been calling you that since first grade. But when it's the only name she knows you by…"

"Fine," I say fiercely, knowing full well that he has a point about this.

"Don't deny yourself the chance to have something that lasts just because you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid."

"Then stop acting like it." He's finished ranting, and I know he's forgiven me for any of the shortcomings he pointed out a minute ago when he hands me another beer to match his own.

"Here's to you," he says. "Actually here's to Tris. She's the one I need to pray for at night if she's gonna be your girlfriend."

I lightheartedly punch his shoulder in reply.

* * *

"Sorry I missed your call."

"No, you're not."

"I don't want to fight, Tris."

"Neither do I, but can we talk about tonight? Nothing happened with Al. Nothing even  _almost_  happened with Al. I was just meeting him in person."

"I know. I believe you."

"And do you really think I'd cheat on you?" she asks. She sounds hurt, and I don't blame her.

I don't want to answer that question so I deflect. "I wasn't aware there was an 'us' for you to cheat on."

"What?"

"We never officially started dating."

" _We never officially started dating?_ " she repeats bitterly. "You're right. We've only been seeing each other exclusively all summer. At least, I've been seeing you exclusively. I can't speak for you."

"Of course I've only been seeing you."

"Why, then? Why have you only been seeing me? I've only been seeing you because I care about you. I like you. I don't want to hurt you."

"And I've only been seeing you for the same reasons."

"Exactly! I wasn't aware that we needed to have an official conversation that defined what we meant to each other, and how we fit into each other's lives! But if that's a conversation you want to have, then I want to tell you that I'm interested in officially starting a relationship with you, since we weren't official before." There's a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but I have a feeling that beneath her cutting tone, her words are mostly honest.

"I didn't mean it like that," I tell her. "I just meant that because we hadn't explicitly discussed our relationship, I didn't know how committed you were to it. I didn't know what you wanted."

Her voice is softer when she asks, "What do you want?"

"I want to be with you," I answer honestly, vulnerably. I remember what Zeke told me about opening up.

She pauses before she takes a deep breath. "I want to be with you, too."

"So do you maybe want to meet up in person? I know it's late, but I'm really sorry for how immaturely I acted today. I talked to Zeke about it, and he helped me realize that I was acting out because I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"You, I guess. Our relationship. I have some trust issues."

"I've noticed," she says. "But, um, I'd love to meet up somewhere. Do you have a place in mind that's still open?"

"There's a diner near my apartment. It's a little late for dinner, but maybe some dessert?"

"Okay."

"I can pick you up."

"I'll see you soon."

I'm thankful that Tris isn't one to hold a grudge, especially after she says she's forgiven me. She isn't tense at all as we drive to the diner, asking me the questions about my trip that I didn't answer earlier.

"You really need to stop surprising me, or every time you leave, I'll wonder when you'll be back, since you never tell me."

"You're right. I shouldn't just drop by."

"But it is a great surprise. I'm happy you're back. You were almost gone for a month."

"I know, and I probably won't be sent out for a while since I just got back, unless something more drastic happens in Syria."

"I was scanning the paper every day while you were gone to see if any of your pictures had been published. I always felt torn when I saw one."

"Really? Why?"

"Because I was so proud of you for having your pictures published in the paper, and I'd see one from you and get really happy, but all your pictures were of destruction, so…yeah, torn."

I laugh. Then I decide to change the tone of the conversation. "So you know my real name then?"

She looks a little uneasy, like she didn't mean to reveal that she knew. "Yeah."

"You can call me that if you want," I say nervously. "You don't have to call me Four. I'm sure that's kind of difficult to explain. When people ask what your boyfriend's name is, I'm sure you'll feel ridiculous when you call me by a number."

She smiles as she takes my hand. "My aunt's asked me about it a couple of times, Tobias."

I like hearing my name. I'm called by my name at work and by Zeke's mother Hana, but it's something different when it's coming from Tris.

"I like your name, by the way."

"Thank you," I say sincerely.

When we get to the diner, neither one of us is very hungry, so we split a slice of Oreo pie and drink a cup of coffee each. It's nice that there aren't a lot of people due to the late hour, and we have the option to sit in one of the booths.

"Just for clarification," I begin halfway through our date. "We are officially in a relationship, right? Girlfriend and boyfriend?"

She playfully rolls her eyes and leans in to kiss me. It's too short of contact for me, considering we haven't really seen each other in almost a month. "Yes, Tobias," she says when she pulls back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to thank everyone for the response to this story! I'm so thankful for all of you! Also, I'm sorry to say that I won't be able to update this Saturday because of exams. Hopefully, this will be the only time I have to amend the schedule, but the end of the school year's coming, and I have several exams and standardized tests coming up. Thankfully, I'm a sophomore so I don't have to prepare for SATs. Anyways, the next chapter will be up next week, and then the schedule will resume as normal.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

I'm thankful that my apartment in New York isn't as plain as my apartment was in Chicago. Here, I've decorated parts of the wall with colorful pictures, and my apartment isn't so clean that it seems sterile. It's obvious that someone lives here, so when Tris comes over to my apartment for the first time, I'm not extremely nervous about what she will think.

I make her dinner, chicken parmesan, and chocolate pudding for desert, which she's extremely complimentary of. I'm proud that she enjoys the meal.

I don't have much of a living room since I don't have many guests, so Tris and I lounge in my bedroom after the meal. She sits in the middle of my bed with her legs crossed under her. I try to mirror her position when she pulls my lips to hers for a steady kiss.

"Thank you for dinner," she says.

I kiss her again. "My pleasure."

She snakes her arms around my neck, and I bring her to sit up on her knees for more of an equal height. "So, if it's okay with you, I told my aunt not to be worried if I don't go back to my place tonight."

I smile innocently. "I don't see how that has anything to do with me."

Her eyes widen before she realizes I'm kidding, and she draws back, removing her arms from me. "I guess you're right. It doesn't have anything to do with you."

I pull her back to me and press my lips to her neck, dropping the pretense altogether. "Of course it's okay with me."

She kisses my lips teasingly. "Yeah?"

I nod. "And besides, when I went to the grocery store for dinner, I happened to pick up some stuff for breakfast, too," I admit.

"A little optimistic of you," she says as I continue to explore the skin she has exposed. It's not enough for my liking.

I feel her laugh against me, not so much nervously as she did our first time, but pleasurably, and the sound only encourages me more.

After a minute, though, she seems intent to hurry things along because she pushes me up and kisses me forcefully, more confidently than she did the first time we had sex. I'm more than willing to return the action with the equal amount of ferocity, firmly placing my hands at her rib cage while she runs her fingertips through the hair at the nape of my neck.

The air in the room feels thick, thankfully not claustrophobic, and everything suddenly feels hot; my skin feels like it's on fire, and I'm sure she's having a similar reaction, so I reach up to remove her shirt and liberate her from the discomfort elicited by clothing. I throw her shirt near the lamp on the bedside table, keeping it somewhat clean for her to wear tomorrow.

I feel her play with the hem of my own Henley, inching it up little by little, but she loses her grip when I place open-mouthed kisses all along the expanse of her newly exposed skin.

I intend to unclasp her bra before I let her take off my shirt, but she's determined for me to shed some clothing, too. We practically start a war with each other, one fighting for the other to surrender control. The funny thing between the two of us is that we never fight to receive pleasure; we have this unspoken battle to determine which one of us will deliver it first, even though we know full well that we will both have a turn. Remembering this, I finally lift my arms above my head to make it easier for her, and she throws it in the same direction I threw hers.

Her hands outline the tattoos on my back, symbols that represent characteristics I strive to exemplify. I told her about them during our first night together – the flames that represent bravery; helping hands to represent selflessness; the all-seeing eye to signify intelligence; scales to symbolize honestly; and the tree which represents kindness. She conveys her fascination with them now as she did before. She's careful at first, lightly tracing the ink with her fingertips while she kisses me firmly. Her fingers grow increasingly demanding as they begin to match the fervency of our kiss, trailing patterns up and down my back in a pattern of her own.

Then I realize that she isn't tracing the tattoos. She's tracing the scars the tattoos are meant to cover. I know she's curious about them. She has to be, and she's been incredibly patient, since I have yet to explain their origin. As much as I hate to put our rendezvous on hold, this is something she has to know.

"Do you want to know about the scars?" I ask against her cheek.

I feel her nod against me.

I sigh, wracking my brain for the right words. I've never really had to explain this before. "They're from my dad. When he was frustrated, or when I did something to set him off, little things of course, he'd hit me with a belt. My father, the perfect citizen, representing Illinois in congress, Marcus Eaton. I can't believe he hasn't run for president yet. It's all he'd talk about when I was growing up," I whisper.

I'm afraid to look into Tris's eyes while I speak, afraid to see any pity. I didn't want to ruin the mood between us, but I wanted her to know.

She cups my face in her hand, forcing me to look at her. I do, and I'm relieved when I don't see an ounce of pity in her expression. She doesn't say anything. She just kisses me passionately and presses her hands even more firmly into my back, brushing over every inch of skin, almost like she's trying to erase the marks that were left there.

And after we're both left sated and sweaty, panting beside each other, she gently resumes tracing patterns along my back. It's a comforting touch. I revel in the tenderness she exercises with her ministrations, and I close my eyes and sigh in contentment before I fall asleep.

* * *

"Okay. Top 5 countries you want to go to," she says from her seat on the kitchen counter near the stove where I'm currently making the two of us chocolate chip pancakes.

"I have to narrow it down to five?"

"Yes!" she exclaims. "Now go."

"Okay. Italy, China, Russia, France, Ethiopia. You?"

"Italy, Spain, Venezuela, Japan, Turkey."

"So we only have one country in common?"

"Bound to happen when there are so many to choose from." She takes the bowl beside her to stir the mix a little more. "It's one of my goals in life to visit every single continent at least once."

"Even Antarctica?"

" _Especially_  Antarctica," she says while she helps herself to a spoonful of pancake batter.

I snatch the bowl from her. "That's disgusting, Tris. Raw pancake batter?"

She shrugs. "It's an acquired taste. Don't judge me for that."

"Even if I shared your preference for undercooked breakfast foods, you're still putting your germs all over the mixing spoon."

"You don't seem to mind germs when you're shoving your tongue down my throat," she teases.

I smirk. I set myself up for that one. "There are exceptions to every rule."

"But, seriously, Antarctica's awesome. And it's safe to go there. You could take some great pictures in Antarctica."

"You probably just want to go for the killer whales."

She takes one of the pancakes off of the plate and rips it in half to feed me a piece while I continue cooking. "That might be a part of it."

"Please don't tell me you think killer whales are cute."

"They are a little cute."

"Have you ever seen one up close in person?"

She shakes her head regretfully. "That's another one of my life goals."

"How many life goals do you have?"

"A lot."

"Which one do you think you'll complete first?"

"Going skydiving."

I laugh nervously. "Yeah, that's not something I can do."

"Why not?"

"Fear of heights."

"Oh."

I know I shouldn't feel weak for admitting my fear, but that doesn't stop the little twinge in the back of my head, buried deeply into my brain after years of my father's conditioning to 'make me better'.

"What kind of things are you afraid of?"

She shrugs. "Basic stuff, I guess. Helplessness, dying. Oh, and I'm terrified of drowning."

"That's not really basic. That's expected of every person."

"Which is why it's basic. It isn't unique."

"Whatever you say," I say noncommittally. "And guess what? Pancakes are ready." Her childlike smile is my favorite part of the meal.

* * *

**September 2013**

My mother calls me out of nowhere. She hasn't spoken to me in a little over four years. She called me on my eighteenth birthday to plead for forgiveness, but her voice was lost on me then, just as it is now.

"Tobias, if you could just try to understand," she says.

"There's nothing to understand! I know what happened!"

"You're blinded by what you went through as a child, and I understand that. And I'm deeply sorry for what happened after I left. I honestly had no idea that Marcus would direct his anger towards you."

"What else did you think would happen? You were gone; there was no one else! Did you really think that he would stop altogether?"

"I'm sorry!" she exclaims over the phone, her voice laced with tears. "I know I can't change what he did to you after I left, but I can at least change our relationship now."

"We don't have a relationship," I remind her.

"And doesn't that hurt you? Doesn't it hurt to know that the two of us are as estranged as we are because of your stubbornness?"

"Stop!" I shout. I can feel her voice stoop to one of her condescending tones – the one she uses for manipulation. "Our estrangement is not because of my stubbornness. It's because of your abandonment."

I hang up the phone before she can say anything else, and I turn it off completely before she can call again.

Tris knocks on the door a few minutes later. I have the day off work, so we planned on spending the day together in Central Park. The excitement I had for our date has depleted since my mother's call.

I let Tris in and offer her a drink.

"What's wrong?" she asks carefully, rubbing circles on the back of my hand with her thumb.

"Nothing." I can tell she doesn't believe me.

She pulls me closer; I follow willingly. "You know," she says. "We don't have to go to the park today. We could always stay in, watch a movie or something."

"You really wanted to go to the park," I remind her.

"I checked the forecast earlier. It might rain anyways. Let's stay in." I know she's lying about the forecast, but I'm really not in any kind of mood to go out. I'm thankful for her suggestion.

"Okay."

She takes her shoes off near the front door and makes herself comfortable at the kitchen table – I really need to set up a living room for the two of us to sit in. She smiles at me reassuringly, and I know she wants me to talk about whatever's bothering me, but she can tell I'm not ready yet, so she starts talking about herself.

"Caleb called me yesterday."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. He was telling me all about how his classes are going."

"What career is he working towards?"

"He wants to be a neurosurgeon. That takes about the longest amount of schooling since it's the most delicate part of the body, but he's wanted to be a neurosurgeon since he was eight years old."

"That's becoming a really popular field."

She sits up in her seat a little more and smiles brightly. "He says he'll probably be able to visit at Christmas."

I don't want her to get her hopes up since he couldn't make it last year. Still, I know how excited she is at the opportunity to see her brother again. "I'll have to meet him while he's in town."

"I'd like that."

I sigh. There's no point in prolonging this. Besides, everyone tells me talking is therapeutic; it's time to put that to the test. "My mom called just before you came over."

She's visibly surprised. "Your mom?" Regretfully, she adds, "I didn't know your mom was still alive. You never mention her."

"She left when I was six because my dad was, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

"She's called me before. She hasn't in a while, but each time, it's always the same thing. She tells me that she did what she had to do; I don't understand the situation; I need to give her a second chance. She always has a way of making  _me_  feel guilty for what happened. I don't know how she does that, but she's really good at that."

"You don't owe her anything," Tris whispers. "And you don't have to explain yourself to anyone."

"But am I being cruel for shutting her out now?"

"No, Tobias," she says adamantly. "You have every right to ignore her for what she did, or take some time before you speak to her again, or try to start a relationship. It's your right to make that decision for yourself."

"But what do you think I should do?"

"I can't answer that for you. What do  _you_  think you should do?"

"I think…I think that I don't want to think about this right now."

I'm sitting across from her at the table, but she gets up and sits in my lap instead. I'd smile suggestively if I wasn't so tense right now. She leans back against me and kisses my neck.

"Okay," she whispers, and I'm grateful that she won't push the issue.

She keeps her head nuzzled against my neck, my arm around her, keeping her steady. No matter what she says about her height, I love that she's as small as she is. I love that I can hold her like this. It's almost like she's a barrier, a shield, protecting me from everything else, and I do the same for her.

"I finally bought my dress," she says out of the blue. "For the party."

The New York Times holds a party for the staff every year for the anniversary in September since the first issue was on September 18, 1851. It will be the 162nd anniversary, and I'm excited to take Tris.

"Do you have a picture of it?"

"Yes."

"Can I see it?"

"No," she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You'll see it next week."

"Then can you give me a little hint? What color is it?"

"Uh-uh. No. I give you the color; you'll ask for the length and the fabric and the cut, and no. I want you to be surprised. This is my first really fancy date."

Her admission surprises me. "What?"

"Homecoming got in the way of my lessons. I skipped junior ring dance, and I was doing school by mail for senior prom. I've never had a date where you had to dress up like this."

"Okay, I'll stop asking. And given that this is your first fancy date, it's my job to make it worthwhile."

"It's already going to be worthwhile."

"Yeah, but like exceptionally worthwhile."

"Exceptionally worthwhile?" she repeats skeptically.

I nod against her and kiss her forehead. "Careful, Tris. You sound like you doubt me."

"Me? Never."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Navy blue – that's the color of Tris's dress. It's knee-length with a slight V-neck, and the back is sheer. The cap sleeves are made of the same sheer material as the back. Her hair is in a formal up do, decorated with sequined pins. She puts me and my tuxedo to shame with her beauty.

"You went all out," I say. "You look great."

"Please tell me I didn't overdo it."

"No." I pull her closer to me. "It's perfect."

She presses her hand to my pocket to straighten my handkerchief. "You look really handsome. I've seen you in a suit before, never a tux."

"Don't get used to it. I rented it."

She laughs and kisses me. "I was very conscious not to wear dark lipstick in case I got it all over you."

"You plan on kissing me often, then?"

"I'll remain appropriate in public."

"Too bad," I say, pecking her temple, careful not to ruin her hair.

The party's a decent size; most of the editors and photographers are here. Music's playing, and the food is exceptional. The newspaper company goes all out for these anniversary parties. Amar told me that these parties are a stunt to attract sponsors.

When Tris sees the orchestra, she pulls me down to whisper in my ear, "You're dancing with me at least once."

"Oh, no. Please, Tris. I have to work with these people. They can't know I have two left feet."

"You do not have two left feet."

"We've never danced before," I remind her. "And if you even try to make a sexual innuendo out of that, I'm breaking up with you right now."

She laughs. "It was a really good one, too."

Amar calls to me from across the room, obviously surprised that I came to the party at all. I didn't come last year. "Eaton, didn't think you'd show up."

"I figured I had to come to at least one of these." I turn his attention to Tris. "Tris, this is my boss Amar. Amar, this is my girlfriend Tris."

Amar shakes her hand. "I saw her over here. Didn't think she was with you," he says teasingly. "Nice to meet you, Tris."

"Nice to meet you, too."

"You must be used to parties like this, being on Broadway and all."

"I'm pretty introverted; I don't think I'll ever get used to Broadway parties."

Amar gives me a knowing smile. "Introverted, huh? No wonder you're with this one. He's a tough nut to crack."

"Yeah, if you ever figure out how to get through to him, let me know."

"Will do." Someone else calls him over to one of the tables. "I'm being summoned. You two enjoy the rest of your night."

"You, too," I say.

"How long do you think you want to stay?" I ask Tris.

"However long it takes to get you to dance with me."

"You're not gonna give up, are you?"

" _One_  dance," she begs. "Just for one orchestra song. There are a bunch of other couples already dancing; no one is going to focus on us. We can dance in a coat closet for all I care, but can you please dance with me?"

"One dance," I assert. "That's it."

It's hard to feign vexation with the situation when she's smiling at me the way she is. I don't really have a problem with dancing, just dancing in front of a crowd of people, especially in front of people I regularly see in a professional setting. I'm struck with a newfound appreciation for Tris's performances on Broadway. I don't know how she does it.

She's comfortable as she intertwines one hand with mine and rests the other over my heart. I rest my free hand on the small of her back, and she lets me lead the movements of the dance. I'm tense and anxious at first, but she relaxes me to the point where I'm able to focus solely on her instead of everyone else around me.

"Thank you," she says when the music ends.

"Well, it's my job to make your first fancy date worthwhile. Couples dance during fancy dates."

"So you danced with me out of sense of duty," she teases.

"Maybe. Anyways, I'm gonna go get a few more pieces of shrimp, but we've been here for a while now. You've met all my superiors, and they all have posed various questions to you about how the hell you ended up with me, so I think it's time to leave now before you start to question yourself, too."

"They're just teasing you," Tris says as she follows me over to one of the sushi bars they have out for food.

"I know. No one in the office can believe I have a girlfriend. They think I'm too intimidating for one."

She laughs. "But you're like a giant teddy bear!"

I wince at her statement. "Only to you. That's a secret. Got it?"

"Understood. And, yeah, I'm ready to go, too. But I'm not ready to go home, if that makes sense."

"You want to make a few stops along the way."

Her eyes light up, and I know she has an idea. "You know what would be really fun since we're all dressed up?"

"What?"

"Let's go someplace that's really casual. Like let's go to Starbuck's or Barnes & Noble – just somewhere that's completely crazy to show up in a formal dress and tuxedo – but act like it's the most normal thing in the world."

"Why not hit up Central Park while we're at it? I owe you a date there."

"Yes!" she exclaims. "Wait, are you being sarcastic right now because I'm really excited about this, and if you were being sarcastic, then that's just cruel."

"I'm not being sarcastic."

She hugs me. "Let's go."

We decide to walk to the nearest Starbuck's, order our coffees, walk back to my car, and then drive to Central Park. We follow one of the paths in between a couple of street lights at the park. We see a couple of benches, but we're too hyper from the coffee and high off each other to sit down.

At one point, Tris stands directly under one of the streetlights, the light around a perfect contrast to the night sky. She looks like an angel.

"Wait," I tell her. "Stay right here. I want to take a picture."

"What?"

"You don't understand. You look perfect; everything around you looks perfect. I'm taking a picture."

I reach for my Canon compact, a pocket-sized camera I keep with me whenever possible. I have several different cameras; I even collected Polaroid cameras when I was younger, but this one is small and easy to use, and the picture is higher definition than any product from my smartphone.

I'm able to take the picture quickly. "Perfect just like I said," I say as I show her the picture.

She looks like she wants to criticize it, but she scans over it again and concedes to my observation. "Okay, that's a great picture. It can only be the work of an exceptional photographer."

"I try."

"Can we get one of the two of us?" she asks.

"It's not really a camera I can take selfies with."

"Yeah, but I want a picture of the two of us eventually. I have to prove that you're not a figment of my imagination."

"And who's been saying that I am?"

"Caleb. He thinks I'm making you up, and I don't think I can stand the ridicule until you meet him at Christmas."

I don't remind her that she already has a picture of the two of us from when we went to the baseball game at Citi Field, several in fact. I'm pleased to know that she wants to take more pictures together. And although I have the same pictures of us together, I have more pictures of Tris by herself. Old habits die hard, and I'm more accustomed to staying behind the camera than in front of it.

"Hey, speaking of the holidays, I was wondering if you'd want to come with me to Chicago to stay with the Pedrads for Thanksgiving. Hana's been wanting me to bring someone home for ages."

I can see on her face that she knows the gravity of what I'm really asking her. The Pedrads practically adopted me, especially throughout high school and college. She knows I'm essentially inviting her to meet my family, earn their blessing.

"I'd love to," she says.

We walk side by side from that point, hands locked tightly together.

"Hey, Tobias," Tris whispers at one point. No one else is around us right now. I can hear her whisper clearly.

"Yeah?"

"I love you." She smiles at me shyly, and I can't help but return it.

"I love you, too."

It's funny because we just reached a major milestone in our relationship, but it doesn't feel earth-shattering or frightening at all. It's just a verbal affirmation of what we already know, voicing what we've proved to each other again and again. Our statements aren't a shock to each other because we already know we love each other. I do everything I can to show her, and the love she returns – that love makes me feel unbelievably happy.

* * *

**October 2013**

I finally buy a sofa for my apartment. It's called a Cloverfield Sofa, and it was Tris's favorite while she was looking through furniture store catalogs with me. The sofa is cream-colored, matching the light walls, but the pillows are deep gray.

My favorite part about it, though, is that there is enough room for both Tris and I to lay down on it, which makes evenings spent watching television even more enjoyable. We never used to watch television in my apartment since we'd have to pull up chairs from the kitchen unless we wanted to sit on the floor.

Tris is folded against me now, her back to my chest, head tucked against my shoulder, my arm strewn around her waist. We're watching the news when she hands me the remote control.

"Pick something else," she says. "They're starting to repeat themselves."

I start to search through the guide, going through each channel one by one, an action that annoys Tris, since she likes to scan until something catches her attention, and she usually finds something for us to watch more quickly than I ever do.

My hand lingers when I see The Brady Bunch highlighted on the screen. Tris notices.

"We can watch it, if you want."

"Are you sure? I know it's kind of old."

"I like that. It's nice to see what was popular more than forty years ago."

I select the show and instantly recognize the episode. It's one I've seen several times before. I've seen all of them before.

"I'm guessing that you like The Brady Bunch," Tris whispers during a commercial break.

"Yeah." I sigh against her neck. "My mom used to watch it with me all the time."

"Really?"

"She had this major problem with the kids' shows of our generation, and The Brady Bunch was her favorite show when she was a kid, so she just went out and bought every episode of it on VHS when I was about four. She called it quality, wholesome entertainment."

"How often did you watch it?"

"Every day. It was like a ritual. When I would come home from school every day, there was this unspoken rule that we would watch one episode together before I started on my homework and she went back to whatever she was doing."

I'm thankful that this memory, although involving my mother, doesn't sting like others do. It feels nostalgic, comforting. It doesn't leave me with a dull ache, reminding me that the relationship I had with my mother is no longer existent. It leaves me with a welcome memory of what used to be.

"I had to get a tonsillectomy when I was six, and I was practically in bed for a week. I was out of school, and my mom didn't work, so it was just the two of us all day long. We watched every single episode in order while I recovered."

"Wow. How many episodes are there?"

"I don't know the exact number, but it was five seasons' worth."

"That's awesome," Tris says. "That's like the ultimate TV marathon."

"Yeah, I guess it is."

"Well, I have to see what all the fuss is about. I've never seen the show before."

"Really?"

"Nope. Just the spoofs of it."

"Then you have no business watching this episode. We have to start you from the beginning."

"Oh, yeah? Do you still have your Brady Bunch collection?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

She cranes her neck to face me. Her smile is wide. "Then by all means, play the first episode."

I extract myself from her and set up the VHS player to the TV. Tris gets up to make us some popcorn while I do so. She's spending the night at my apartment tonight, so we can spend time together before I leave for India tomorrow to report on Cyclone Phailin. This time, Amar isn't sending me with a reporter; this one's up to me.

Since the episodes are on VHS and they've been watched over and over again, a lot of them skip or have a few errors with the picture. I let Tris know, but she doesn't mind. I make a mental note to buy the episodes on DVD sometime.

The scent of butter wafts through the air by the time Tris settles herself against me. We're both sitting up instead of lying down, and I feel so content when she tucks herself against my side. I watch her more than I watch the episode. I've seen it a million times anyways, and I can't get over how expressive she is.

"Stop staring at me," she chastises light-heartedly when she catches me staring.

"I can't help it." I start pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck.

She pushes me off. "I'm trying to watch the episode."

I keep sucking her sensitive skin, but she keeps pushing me off. "We have time for that later," she says.

"We also have time for The Brady Bunch later," I counter.

She stares at me thoughtfully for a minute before grabbing the VHS remote from the arm rest and stopping the episode. "You know, I can't even think of anything to dispute that."

* * *

Zeke and I have frequented the bar more often since Shauna moved in with him. Nothing against Shauna, of course; Zeke knows she needs her breaks from him, too. The two of us are well-acquainted with the staff since we've dropped by often for a little over a year now. We sit at the bar, fairly tipsy as we watch the college football game on TV.

"I want to marry Shauna," Zeke says out of the blue while the bartender mixes our drinks.

"Really?" I ask.

"I think it's a good time. I mean, we have good stable jobs. We're comfortable living together, and we've lived with each other for a while now. I want to get married."

"Did you just decide this, or do you have it all figured out?"

"I need to get a ring," he says mostly to himself. "And plan a proposal, probably a couple different ones in case something goes wrong, and just to let you know, I'm gonna run a lot of things by you."

"Great," I say, and it must have sounded sarcastic because he glares at me. "Really, congratulations," I add, more convincingly this time.

"Thanks. I'll try to get the ring by next month, so I can propose to her before Thanksgiving and then surprise everyone when we go to Chicago."

"Oh, that reminds me. Tris is coming with me for Thanksgiving."

"Really?"

"Yeah, so I have to call your mom and let her know."

"She's going to be thrilled. You're finally bringing someone home. Her little Toby is all grown up."

I punch his arm. "I told you never to call me that."

"That's the only nickname that comes from Tobias," he protests. "Unless you want Bias, Toby is going to have to do."

"I thought this age-old argument between us is the reason why you started calling me 'Four' in the first place."

"And it's stuck for eighteen years so far. That's what you call a trendsetter."

"Congratulations. You want a gold star?"

He snorts. "I thought having a girlfriend would improve your asshole tendencies."

"Nope. Even Tris can't change something so deeply imbedded in my personality."

"That's a shame."

"Hey, is the proposal like a secret, or can I tell people about it?"

"You mean, can you tell Tris?" Zeke amends.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Sure. I trust Tris not to tell Shauna. She seems to be good at that kind of stuff. The only reason I know you won't tell Shauna is because you don't usually say anything."

"I'm a man of few words. It's a good thing."

"Yeah, whatever."

"It's actually really selfless," I say. "I don't use many words, so I don't have to take a lot of breaths, and I say what I need to say quicker than others so more people have time to speak."

"Not being really selfless right now. You get so chatty when you're drunk. That's not an attractive quality."

"You're even chattier when you're sober. That's not an attractive quality."

"And here I am, five years into a relationship, planning how I will propose to my girlfriend."

"Yeah, I heard the first time. You can shut up about it now."

"No need to get testy," he says. "Your time will come."

I think about the implication of his statement longer than I probably should have, and it cripples me with panic, anxiety, incredulity, and something else. Something I can't quite explain…yet.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**November 2013**

I squeeze Tris's hand tightly, so tightly I'm sure I must be hurting her, but she doesn't say anything about it. She soothingly moves her thumb back and forth across my hand.

"I hate flying," I grunt in her ear.

"J-just imagine we're somewhere else," she says.

I laugh nervously. "It doesn't exactly work like that, Tris."

"Well, then, if you can't imagine something else, try to focus on something else."

I lean closer to her over the aisle between us. She happily accepted the window seat, while I was more comfortable with the aisle. I try to heed her advice and focus on what's ahead for us. I lean my cheek on top of her head, holding her close to me, inhaling the scent of her strawberry conditioner and thinking about our imminent joy.

We are flying to Chicago for Thanksgiving. Zeke and Shauna flew in last night, but the earliest flight Tris and I could get was this morning. It only prolonged my anxiety. Every time I fly, I wonder how I was able to do this the last time. It's really only the takeoff that bothers me. Once that's out of the way, I'm better about this.

"Okay. Focusing on something else. Did you call Uriah and let him know we're on the plane?"

"Yes."

"And did you remind him not to tell Hana about you?"

"I did." She playfully rolls her eyes. "I don't see why you want to make it this big reveal thing. You just happen to be dating her son's best friend from high school. That's not a big deal."

"She'll love it," I insist. "She'll be so happy we kept it a surprise."

Zeke, Uriah, and I agreed a while back that Tris should be a surprise for Hana, something to be told in person. We've all talked about my girlfriend; no one's mentioned that Hana has already met my girlfriend before.

"There's also room for disappointment."

"You know that's not the case with Hana Larson-Pedrad."

She narrows her eyes at me. "I thought disappointment was the  _only_ case with Hana Larson-Pedrad," she jokes, and we both remember how often Hana scolded Zeke and Uriah. "And besides, our news pales in comparison to Zeke and Shauna's surprise engagement."

"You're right. Let's one-up them. We'll get engaged."

She laughs. "Better yet, let's say I'm pregnant."

"Shotgun wedding in Vegas?" I tease.

"Sorry, Tobias, but Vegas isn't on the way to Chicago."

"She  _will_  be happy for us, though."

She leans her head against my shoulder. I'm sure that must be her favorite spot since she does it so often. "Okay, good. Let's just tell her everything she wants to know before she notices Shauna's wearing an engagement ring."

It's not a long flight from Chicago to New York, and thankfully, there is very little turbulence. Turbulence is another thing I can't handle well. I call Hana to let her know we've landed safely and are about to take a taxi to the house.

"Will you please tell me your girlfriend's name?" she begs.

"No, Hana."

"Tobias, I am letting this young lady into my home. She will be sleeping under my roof, and you won't even tell me what her name is."

"Stop trying at this point. You'll meet her in less than an hour."

"You could be playing with me. How do I know she even exists if you won't give me any proof?"

"I'm bringing her to meet you!"

Her laugh booms into the phone. "I bet you she somehow will get so sick during the taxi ride that she has to fly all the way back to New York on short notice before you show up at my door."

"Zeke's met her," I protest. "He can vouch for me; my girlfriend is real. And, actually, the longer we talk about this, the longer it takes for you to meet her."

"Oh, fine. Fine. Get here soon."

"We're on our way."

Tris and I both travel light. I have one carry-on bag; she has a small suitcase. We're only staying in Chicago for four days. We wait outside the airport for the taxi, hand in hand. It's cool enough for us to see our breath, and even though it's a little childish, we both have a lot of fun exaggeratedly exhaling our breath while we wait.

I'm thankful for this opportunity to visit Chicago with Tris. We may not have been able to, had she gotten a role in the Broadway production of  _As You Like It_. Tris auditioned for it last month, and she was rejected shortly after. However, she quickly bounced back. When she told me she hadn't gotten the part, she actually had a smile on her face, which confused me, and then she informed me that if she  _had_  gotten the part of Rosalind, then she wouldn't have a holiday break, and she wouldn't be able to audition for the upcoming  _Les Miserables_. Even I know how big that show is.

"Tobias?" Tris asks from beside me in the taxi.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing. You just seemed deep in thought."

"I was."

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"A lot of things, you in particular."

She smiles shyly. I love it when her smile is so bright that they rival the glistening stars, but I have to say her shy smile is my favorite. It reflects the affect my words and actions can have on her, and I love being able to see it for myself.

"Anything else?" she asks.

Out of nowhere, I decide, "I'm going to go for my master's in anthropology."

"Really?" Her voice raises a couple octaves, and it's hard to tell what her initial reaction is. I hope it's a good one.

"Yeah, well, I haven't heard from National Geographic, and I said I'd go for my master's if I didn't get a job there, so it looks like I'm going for my master's."

"As long as it's what you want to do," she says encouragingly.

"It is."

She leans against me and tucks her head in the special spot of my shoulder; some days I feel like it was made just for her, and I'm sure she feels that way, too. She stays cuddled up against me for the rest of the taxi ride.

The Pedrad household is homely like I remember. The door's unlocked since everyone is home, so we just walk right in. Hana welcomes us in the foyer. She wraps me in a tight hug, throwing my bags to Zeke to carry upstairs.

"Tobias!" she exclaims. She finally looks behind me and takes Tris in. "And Tris!" she exclaims even louder than before. " _Tris_ is your girlfriend?"

"Hi, Hana," Tris says before she gives Hana a hug of her own.

"My God, Tris. I haven't seen you around here since you went off to New York. Uriah's been keeping me updated." She turns to Uriah, who has met us in the entryway. "How could you not tell me that Tobias and Tris were dating?"

Uriah shrugs. "They wanted it to be a surprise."

"I'm sufficiently surprised." Hana beams before her face falls. "And incredibly disappointed in myself. I knew both of you independently before you met each other! How did I not think of putting you together?"

She looks over us one more time, a smile on her face. She wraps one arm around Uriah's shoulders, and Zeke and Shauna join us in the living room. We talk for the whole afternoon, and then all six of us spend the evening preparing dinner and desert.

Hana, Tris, and Shauna are shaping sugar cookies when we hear Hana gasp. Tris and I share a knowing look.

"Shauna Stephanie Menendez, is that what I think it is?" she asks, pointing at the diamond ring on her finger.

"Yeah, it is."

Hana applauds loudly. "Oh, that's wonderful! Zeke's getting married! I'd hug you, but I've got cookie dough all over my hands." She holds up her hands to further illustrate her point. "Oh, you know, screw it. You're getting married. Give me a hug!"

When I see Zeke and Shauna rush over to embrace Hana, I feel something in the pit of my stomach. When we were growing up, I used to see Uriah kiss his mother's cheek for no reason other than to show affection, and I saw how eager Hana was to see her sons when they came home from school.

I used to feel envious of the relationship they had; the tight-knit family unit that I knew I'd never be a part of. Eventually, my envy developed into longing. I desperately wanted to be a part of it. And now, with all six of us crowded in the kitchen, I realize that I  _am_  a part of it.

I didn't always have a terrible childhood. I made a lot of good memories with my mother, and sometimes I remember fragments of my father's smiling face before something small set him off. After my mother left, I didn't think I'd get that feeling of belonging somewhere again.

But I have it now, and I want to hold onto it for as long as I can.

* * *

**December 2013**

I'm not used to this kind of heat. I've always lived up north, so the blistering sun of the Sahara is uncharted territory. Tris was so angry when I told her I got to go to Mali and she didn't. At the time, I was excited; now I'd gladly go back to the snow-dusted city of New York.

I'm here to photograph the mass grave that was recently discovered near the city of Bamako. It holds the remains of 21 loyalist soldiers said to go missing last year during Mali's coup. It's another one of the humbling experiences I've come across since becoming a professional photographer.

The assignment came up unexpectedly, and it was a little disappointing because I actually have a few things to straighten out, and I have very little time left to do it. Those "things" for me to tend to are Tris's Christmas present.

Another thing that comes up unexpectedly is when my mother calls me at the hotel.

"I missed you this holiday season," she says.

I scoff. "That's a first."

"Tobias, I have a proposal for you. Please, just listen. I've been thinking about this a lot, and I think I finally have a solution –''

"A solution?" I spit back.

"Please," she begs. I hate it when she begs me to listen. It brings back memories of when she begged my father for mercy. "Just listen."

"Okay."

"I shouldn't expect you to let me be your mother when I haven't been a mother to you for years. I keep throwing excuses at you for why I left, but I've never apologized for leaving. And I  _am_ sorry. I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry that I haven't been a mother, but I'm asking you to let me be a part of your life."

I sigh. "And what does that entail?"

"Just lunch every once in a while. Weekly phone calls, talking about our lives. I want that with you."

I want to say  _I have it with someone else_. I want to say something cutting, something so bitter and so cruel that she'll never call again, but at the same time, there's a part of me that revels in her repeated attention.

"One lunch," I say. "We don't live in the same city, but if I'm ever in D.C., we'll have lunch," I promise.

"Thank you, Tobias."

"Yeah, whatever."

I start drafting the article shortly after the phone call. My drafting mostly involves staring at a blank page; I've always had the most trouble with the introduction. And, like I always do when I feel stuck, I call Tris.

"Well, if you can't write the beginning of the article yet, can't you write the middle?" she asks. "That's what my English teacher always told me to do in school when I didn't know how to write an introduction to a research paper."

"Well, this isn't exactly a research paper."

"Right. So you don't have to be completely objective, even though it's a news article, but I'm sure you already know that."

"Yeah, I do."

"For the introduction, you have to grab people's attention, and for me, anyways, the best way to do that is to set the scene. Give the readers enough detail so that they can imagine it for themselves."

"Isn't that what the pictures are for?" I ask.

"Look, I'm not a photojournalist," she says good-naturedly. She isn't quick to blow up at me when I'm frustrated, but if I cross the line with my attitude, she doesn't hesitate to put me in my place.

"I know. I'm just hoping you'll say something that'll jog something in my brain."

"That's a lot of pressure you're putting on me."

"What have you liked about articles before?"

"I liked what I said. I like it when authors don't sterilize something like this. I know Jeffrey Gettleman uses emotional appeal all the time in his articles about Kenya."

I joke, "What are you doing reading Gettleman's articles?"

"I'm not allowed to know the news?" she retorts.

"Emotional appeal is a good idea," I say seriously.

"And you're right. The pictures help. A picture's worth a thousand words; you just have to figure out what they are for the article."

"Okay."

"Now get to work."

* * *

Mel opens the door and smiles when she sees me. "Tris isn't here," she says.

"I know. I'm here to ask you if everything's all straightened out. She has all the documents ready and everything, right?"

"Yeah. Do you want her passport now, so you'll have it when you surprise her?" Mel asks.

"Yes, please."

Mel invites me inside and picks Tris's passport out of one of the miscellaneous drawers in the in table by the sofa. She hands it to me. "Only a week until Christmas day," Mel says.

"I know." My panic starts setting in again. "Maybe I shouldn't have surprised her. What if she made plans?"

"Trust me, Tobias. She doesn't have any plans." She adds, "At least, she doesn't know she has any plans."

"What if she wants to do something with Caleb while he's in town?"

"I'm not Tris. Maybe you could ask her if she plans on doing anything."

"Yeah, I could do that."

I give Mel a quick hug good-bye and head out to my car. When I drive back to my apartment, I'm surprised to see Tris waiting for me near the entrance.

"I need to get you a key," I say with a smile before I kiss her. When I pull back, she pulls me closer, eager to keep me in contact. I'm able to see the expression on her face. "What's wrong?"

She takes a deep breath before replying. "Caleb can't make it for Christmas."

I sigh as I kiss her forehead. "Come on. Let's go in."

She lets go to let me unlock the door and walk into the apartment. We sit next to each other on the couch, and I see Tris struggling to hold back tears. This is what I was afraid of. Caleb's blown her off two years in a row. She was so excited to see him; she hasn't seen them since their parents died, and he canceled their plans.

"Why can't he make it?"

"His girlfriend wants to take him to meet her parents."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I snarl.

"I know. He canceled the week before. I wanted to see him so much."

"I know you did."

I rub my hand up and down her back while she stays tucked against my side. A few tears escape, but she doesn't break down. I wouldn't have even noticed the tears if I couldn't feel them fall from her face to my neck. She takes a couple more deep breaths before she changes the subject.

"Where were you?" she asks.

"Getting all the details for your Christmas present."

"What did you get me?"

"It's a surprise."

"Can't we have Christmas early this year? Like right now? It's just you and me this Christmas. It's too late to book a flight to Chicago, and Mel already planned another trip to Atlantic City with friends."

She has a point. Mel planned the trip in order to give Tris and Caleb their much-needed time to catch up and time for me to get to know Caleb. So much for that. Besides, I'm having trouble denying her request.

"But you can't give me my present right now. How is that fair?"

"It's in my car," she says. "I was picking up the wrapping paper today."

"So my present isn't even wrapped yet?" I quip.

"Is mine?"

"Fair enough. Go get your present from the car. I want to open mine first."

"What? Why?"

"I just want to open mine first."

"Oh, my God," she says. "You think your present is better than mine. That's why you want to go first."

"You're perceptive."

"And you're cocky."

"Come on, please."

She gets up from the couch. "Fine. I'll be right back."

While she's gone, I get everything together and put it on the kitchen table: the tickets, the hotel reservation, and our passports. She walks back into the apartment a minute later, a plastic bag in one hand and gold wrapping paper in the other.

"Just imagine it's wrapped in that," she says as she hands me the bag. We both get situated on the couch before I look inside.

I open the bag and look in to find the entire series of The Brady Bunch on DVD. All five seasons. Every episode. "Oh, my God, Tris, thank you," I breathe out, pulling her close to me and kissing her briefly.

"You're welcome."

"We have to marathon this," I tell her.

"Looking forward to it."

I see her waiting for her present, even though she's trying to be patient. "Your present's on the kitchen table," I say, and that's all it takes for her to jump up and walk briskly to the kitchen. I follow behind slowly, taking in every reaction and smiling brightly when she finally realizes what her present is.

"Italy!" she exclaims. "We're going to Italy?"

"Yeah, we are."

"You planned a whole trip to Italy behind my back?" There's nothing but happiness in her tone.

"Yeah. We're scheduled to leave on the 26th and I took some time off work so we get back on the 5th, just in time for your  _Les Mis_ audition."

She looks over the tickets one more time, confirming what I've already told her, what she's already seen for herself, before she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me. "Okay," she says. "You win. You earned your cockiness. Your gift is better."

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**January 2014**

"Hot tea or iced coffee?"

"Iced coffee," I answer. "Books or movies?"

She sharply inhales a breath. "Don't make me choose."

Somehow, Tris and I fell into this game, some variation of 20 questions. We sit across from each other on the bed in our hotel room, too exhausted for midnight sight-seeing and too energized to go to sleep.

"Do you think sunrises or sunsets are prettier?"

"Sunrises," I say, and she crinkles her nose.

"Really?"

"What's wrong with sunrises?"

"Nothing. I just like sunsets better."

"That's fine, but these questions are really superficial."

She leans closer to me. "Oh, yeah? How so?"

"They're only scratching the surface. I think it's time to ask deeper questions."

She laughs against me, and I scowl at her. "Sorry," she says. "But it's really funny that  _you're_ the one suggesting soul-baring."

"We don't have to do it," I assure her.

"How about we just postpone it? I don't want to spoil our trip to Italy by revealing every single thing about me. That's not how it works. I have to have enough to reveal just a little over several years. That way, you're always learning something new about me."

I smile. "Makes sense."

I lay back on the bed, and she curls against my side. We still can't go to sleep yet, but we're comfortable just laying here. She reaches over me and grabs my phone from the nightstand, only handing it to me so that I can unlock it, before she goes through the pictures from our trip so far.

The majority of our pictures are from the afternoon we spent at the Trevi Fountain. We also went to see Michelangelo's painting of the Sistine Chapel, and even though my legs were sore after waiting in line for three hours, it was still one of the best times we had. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take pictures of the crowd sprawled out on the floor, staring up at Michelangelo's work above us. I'm thankful the image still dances around in my mind.

"That one's my favorite," she says, holding up the picture of the two of us at the Pantheon, the sunset in the background.

"That's a good one. I'm proud of that one."

"You should be. That's something you'd see on the cover of a magazine."

I smile fondly. "Maybe National Geographic would be into something like that."

She puts the phone back on my side of the bed before she rests against me again, running a hand up and down the bare skin of my back. "Maybe. Have you heard from them at all?"

"Still nothing. I might reapply in the spring."

"Before you finish your master's?" she asks.

"Well, I can do both at the same time."

"Yeah, you're a good multi-tasker, but that's a lot of work."

"It's not really something to figure out right now. There's no point in thinking about it when I don't have a job there yet."

She nods, and I can tell her eyes are finally getting heavy with sleep. "Hey, Tobias?"

"Mm-hmm?" I'm getting tired myself.

"Thank you so much for bringing me here."

I pull her even closer and kiss her forehead. "My pleasure."

* * *

I'm surprised Tris can even read her script with all the notes she's scrawled on it. Different shades of highlighters and pens litter the pages. Her eyes scan them, and it's fun to watch how her lips move as she reads over them, silently mouthing the words and committing them to memory.

The two of us work in comfortable silence. I'm supposed to be working on a paper about the evolution of ancestral significance, but I'm a little distracted by Tris.

She did end up earning a role in  _Les Mis_ , just not the role she auditioned for. She auditioned for the role of Fantine, but the casting director thought she was a little too young and innocent-looking for the part. However, she did not think Tris lacked talent, and cast her as Fantine's daughter, Cosette.

Tris looks up when she turns the page and catches me staring at her, a smile gracing her lips when she does.

"I can go home if you're not getting any work done," she says teasingly.

"This paper's not due tonight anyways."

"Don't procrastinate."

I make an effort to focus on my work a little more while Tris copies her lines onto notecards. We work silently for almost half an hour when she suddenly says, "I always wanted to go to college."

"Why didn't you?"

She sighs. "Broadway."

"You love Broadway," I remind her.

"Yeah, I do," she agrees absently. "I just really wanted to go to college. Julliard was the dream, but then I got called out here, and my mom didn't want me to turn down the opportunity."

"Did  _you_ want to turn down the opportunity?"

She shakes her head, drawing her eyes back to the script on the coffee table – another addition to the living room since the sofa – and says, "Sometimes I just think everything happened too quickly. One day I was on a small stage in Chicago, and then I was moving away at sixteen."

"Change is good," I offer before regretting my inability to comfort people.

"I know. I've just never been good with it."

I pause before replying, letting my gaze fall on Tris seated on the sofa, her papers sprawled out on the table. She has a change of clothes hanging up in my bedroom closet, in case she does end up spending the night, which most likely won't happen since we both have work tomorrow. Her shoes sit next to mine beside the front door, a reminder of the things I didn't have six months ago.

"But change can be good," I say more emphatically this time, thinking of all the ways she's changed my life in the short time we've been together.

She offers me a smile, one of her especially shy ones, and sighs contentedly. "Sometimes."

* * *

**February 2014**

Zeke and Shauna are three months into their wedding planning, and they have yet to agree on a wedding to plan. The only thing they can really agree on is that they want to get married in March, but I don't see how they can pull this event together in a month.

Disputes usually start with their wedding venue. For one, Zeke wants to get married in Chicago, but Shauna wants to get married here in New York.

"But our story started in Chicago," Zeke always asserts.

"And it's led us to New York," Shauna returns.

Personally, I'm rooting for New York, purely because of selfish reasons. If they plan on having their wedding in March, which is the same month as the  _Les Mis_ opening, then I doubt Tris will be able to have the time off to fly out to Chicago for the wedding.

"We have to pick something," Shauna says.

"Our families are in Chicago," Zeke argues.

"It would be hard to organize a wedding a thousand miles away from where we live."

"700 miles," Zeke corrects.

"Oh, my God!"

I can tell their fight's about to blow up again, so I plan my exit carefully. "Hey, guys, I really have to work on this module for my class."

"Sit your ass down, Four," Shauna says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

"Why do we even have to do this?" Zeke asks. "Aren't the best man and the maid of honor responsible for most of the work? Oh wait, they're in Chicago!"

"The travel back and forth will be too expensive."

"And how are supposed to ship all our friends and families out here?"

"Zeke, Shauna, I really have to do that module."

"We have a computer," Zeke says. "Use that. We're not done here."

"Just elope at this point," I mutter, but neither one of them are paying attention to me.

After phone calls to both of their mothers and a couple more screaming matches, they finally reach the decision to flip a coin. They argue a little more when they both want to call heads, and again when Zeke tries to flip the coin and Shauna accuses him of cheating. I end up flipping the coin when it lands on tails, and Shauna sighs happily to herself in celebration of her New York wedding. Zeke mopes around for days afterwards.

They call me incessantly, asking for advice about the wedding. I don't know why they think to go to me since I don't know the first thing about planning a wedding. Their demanding conversations know no bounds; they call me at work, while I'm on dates with Tris, minutes after I retire for the night. I can't wait until this is over.

Hopefully, they'll stop when they're married, unless, of course, they buy a house in need of renovations, in which case this hell will start all over again.

* * *

"Did they finally agree on something?" Tris asks over breakfast the following week. We haven't had a lot of chances to be able to see each other, so we've resorted to small breakfasts and occasional late dinners during the workweek. It's still a treat to spend time with her.

"Depends on your definition of agree," I say, and Tris smiles. "Zeke is warming up to it, though. And now they've picked out a date, so we can finally clear our schedules for that day. It's March 15th."

"Really? The Ides of March?"

I shrug. "They saw the opportunity, and they took it."

"How romantic – getting married on the anniversary of Julius Caesar's death."

"Well, Tris, you know of my unruly desire to one-up them, so let's get married on D-day."

She laughs loudly across the table, careful not to choke on the sip of coffee she had just taken. "We'll have to remember to do that."

She changes the subject. "Do you know what day March 15th falls on?"

"Saturday."

She groans and slams her forehead into the palm of her hand.

"What is it?" I ask worriedly.

" _Les Mis_  comes out on March 22nd. Do you know how busy I'm going to be with dress rehearsals during the month of March? I was kind of hoping for something after opening night, particularly something that didn't interfere with my work schedule."

My following groan mirrors hers from a moment ago. "Can't you take one day off? They have you rehearsing your ass of as it is."

"I can't just take a day off, Tobias. The rehearsals are very important."

"You'll wear yourself out."

"I haven't so far."

"You don't even have to take the day off," I protest. "Just a few hours. The ceremony will be short and to the point – that's how they want it – and you'd only have to stay at the reception for a couple hours for the cake, the party, the dancing…I'm sure they can spare you for a few hours."

"Tobias, I'll try to work something out, but I don't think I can be there for the whole thing. I'm sorry. I really do wish I could make it work."

I take her hand in mine across the table. "It's okay," I say to her reassuringly, but in my head, it's not okay. It's a hole in something I was really looking forward to. I'll just have to learn to patch it up; I should be used to that now with all the times I've had to do it before.

"Thank you. I will try to make it."

"Don't say that. Don't give me hope. Tell me if you can't come or not. I don't like maybes."

"I can't give you an answer right now."

"Can you figure one out?"

She forcefully pulls her hand back and leans back in her chair while crossing her arms. "That's not fair!" she exclaims as loudly as she can in a public setting. "That's not fair for you to ask when you've left the country indefinitely for work, and I've had no idea when you'd be back. Now I'm sorry my schedule interferes with the wedding, but don't be a dick."

I sigh. "Sorry," I mutter.

She nods, signaling that she knows I'm sorry, and accepts my petulant apology. She knows I'm acting coolly because of my disappointment at the news.

"And look on the bright side," she says. "Now that we've figured out when we're getting married, I know not to let my schedule interfere."

She manages to draw a smile out of me, and she applauds her victory. I suppose missing the wedding isn't the end of the world.

* * *

**March 2014**

Tris doesn't miss the wedding – not all of it, at least. She arrives at the church fifteen minutes late, halfway through the ceremony. We anticipated her tardiness, if she could even arrive at all, so a seat was reserved for her in the back of the church. She tries not to draw attention to herself as she takes her seat.

She catches my eye from where I stand on the stage beside Uriah, and she smiles. Hey eyes utter a silent apology. And, like she did in the coffee shop when she acknowledged my apology, I nod slightly as a response to hers, and then I turn my full attention back to Zeke and Shauna.

"Do you, Ezekiel Pedrad, take Shauna Morales to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, for as long as you both shall live?"

I don't miss the way my friend's voice chokes from pure happiness when he replies, "I do."

"And do you, Shauna Morales, take Ezekiel Pedrad to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to cherish in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, for as long as you both shall live?"

Shauna's watery smile when she says, "I do" is enough for Zeke to shed a tear.

He dips her when he kisses her, a little too sloppily for my taste, but hey, it's their wedding. They run out of the church hand-in-hand, eager to climb into the limo and head off to the hall the reception's being held in.

I meet up with Tris in the back of the church. Her eyes still bear the regret of being late, but we both knew about this possibility, so I want to assure her that's it's all right.

"I'm sorry I was so late."

I kiss her. With the two of us being so busy, I haven't been able to kiss her in days. "It's okay, Tris."

"The show will be over soon. I know it's really crazy right now, but things will calm down in a month or two."

My first thoughts are cynical, because even though this show will be finished in a few months, it won't be very long until Tris goes out for the part in her next show, whatever that may be, and the cycle will start again. I was never around Tris for this part during any of her other shows; I just saw the end result. But she's trying to reassure me. She believes that our relationship will go back to normal once the show's over, so I won't ruin that for her.

"Come on. Let's get to the reception."

"I can't really stay long. I should actually leave once I congratulate Zeke and Shauna."

"What?"

"Maybe I can stay long enough for the first dance, but I really should get back to rehearsal."

"That director requires too much of you."

"Tobias, don't start that again, please. We didn't know if I'd be able to make it at all before."

"You're already here, Tris," I tell her. "What can the director do to punish you if you show up a little later than you're supposed to? You're one of the main characters in the play. They can't fire you a week before opening night."

"Fine, I'll stay for the cake, too."

I kiss her again, a method of dissolving the tension, and in some ways, it works, but in others, it only manages to frustrate me more. "Thank you."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

It's the opening night of  _Les Miserables_. Tris has been gone all day, rehearsing for tonight. Since I've been promoted for my job, the Times is sending a different reporter to review the play, so I get to simply enjoy watching Tris on stage without all the stress of writing a review.

We have plans to go to the opening night party together, just long enough to take pictures and have some drinks with a few of her cast members, and then we're going to my apartment, where Tris will spend the rest of the weekend, since she has Sundays off.

I'm blown away with her performance, just as I have been with all of them before, but like all of her different characters, there's something I'm keenly fond of in each that separates one from the rest.

I thought she couldn't top her role as Cinderella, with her dedication and emotional connection to the part, but Cosette doesn't fail to take my breath away. It's probably because I'm more invested in this story as a whole, but  _Les Miserables_ just might be my favorite of the productions I've seen.

I wait for her to get ready for the party after the show. I'm standing around the auditorium a little more awkwardly than I'd like, but it's worth it when she comes out beaming and wraps her arms around my neck before kissing me.

"Did you like it?" she asks.

"Loved it."

She doesn't look like she believes me, especially since she thinks I'm still annoyed with her for missing most of Zeke and Shauna's wedding, but I've been given time to mull it over, and I've forgiven her for it. She's just not as convinced.

"Thanks for coming."

"No problem."

"I don't want to go to the party. I just want to go back to your place," she tells me.

As much as I want to give in to her suggestion, I know she has obligations as one of the central characters in the show. "Come on. You need to take a few pictures. It won't take long."

She groans but concedes, and before I know it, she's whisked away for countless pictures and a few interviews. We're there for much longer than we intended.

"Sorry about tonight," she whispers against my shoulder after we take the time to physically catch up with each other in my apartment.

"Not your fault."

"I never got to ask your favorite part about the show."

"You," I say without hesitation.

"No, it's not."

"You can't tell me what my favorite part is. I have multiple favorite parts, and they all include you. You did great tonight," I assure her. "You gave me goose bumps and everything."

She smiles against my skin and runs her hand teasingly up my arm. "I do that anyways."

"Yeah, I guess you do."

"And thanks, Tobias, for putting up with all of this. I know it's been crazy, but things will calm down soon."

"Yeah, I know."

" _Les_   _Miserables_ will be finished in a couple months," she reminds me.

"And then you'll be on to your next role."

She sighs heavily. "Actually, I'm not so sure."

My eyes widen. "What?"

She buries herself further into my side. "Just forget it. I'm really tired. I think it's time for me to go to sleep."

Neither one of us brings up her statement again.

* * *

**April 2014**

Everything happens in a whirlwind. On the second of the month, I'm sent on the first flight out to Chile because of an 8.2 magnitude earthquake and severe aftershocks. Since then, the president of Chile has declared the northern part of the country a disaster zone. I'm in Chile for four days, hopeful to be on the next flight out, when protests in favor of Russian occupancy break out in the Ukraine.

"We did not see that coming," Amar says. "We need you to cover the protests in Ukraine."

"Don't you already have a correspondent in Ukraine?"

"Yeah, but I sent her to Egypt to cover the terrorist attacks in Cairo."

I mutter every expletive I can think of under my breath. "You need more international reporters, Amar."

"You won't be there long," he assures me.

And I'm not there long in comparison to assignments I've had in the past, the longest of which was during the Syrian Civil War months back. But even when I was assigned to Syria indefinitely, I felt closer to Tris. Now, with her performance schedule and my unpredictable profession on different sides of the globe, we've barely spoken to each other since our weekend together.

We tried video chatting a couple of times while I was in Chile, but my connection was always bad, and the video ended up cutting off. Still, we were able to share a few conversations over the phone.

Tris and I don't talk at all while I'm in the Ukraine, until six days later when I have to call her to tell her that I'm being shipped off to Syria once again.

"This is your third assignment!" she exclaims. "When are you coming home?"

"Amar says this will be the last one."

"Can they actually do this to you? It doesn't seem fair."

"I'm an international reporter. They can send me wherever the hell they like."

"Aren't you feeling stressed? Overworked? Tobias, I just don't think this arrangement is working out."

"I can handle it," I snarl.

She ignores my bitter tone. "How long are you going to be in Syria?"

"No idea."

"Well, then, I guess I'll see you when I see you."

"I'll tell you if there are any new developments."

"I thought the Syrian Civil War was over," she says, her voice small.

"The attacks aren't as frequent as they were, but still, 88 civilians were killed by barrel bombs dropped from Syrian government warplanes."

"That's terrible," she whispers.

"Yeah, it is."

"I'm sorry if I seem selfish, but I just miss you. I know we've gone without seeing each other longer before, but that was also before we were really in a relationship."

"Yeah, it was, but I'll make it up to you when I get back. I miss you, too."

* * *

I'm finally allowed to go home on April 18th, and Amar frequently guarantees that I will be well-compensated for any inconvenience during my 17-day trek to three different countries. I don't surprise Tris at her apartment; I'm too exhausted to drive over there, and besides, Tris has a show tonight.

Tris has two more shows during the weekend, and I have plenty of schoolwork to catch up on, so the first time we are able to actually meet in person is that Sunday evening for dinner. She doesn't have another show until Tuesday night, so she's packed enough to stay with me for the whole two days. We have plans to order in and stay up late talking, plans to spend much-needed time with her. I've missed her so much.

I'm ordering pizza for the two of us when she walks in – I finally had a key made for her – and we share a smile before she walks into the kitchen to pour us drinks. I can't help but notice how comfortable she is in my apartment now. Once she walks in, I'm quick to verify our order a third time before ending the call.

She hands me a glass of wine. "Hey."

"Hey."

"So," she says. "Tell me everything. I haven't seen you in over two weeks, and you've been to three different continents. How'd the pictures come out?"

"Great. I have a couple from sightseeing I can show you a little later."

"Can't wait."

"How were the shows? You still haven't tripped over that gown, have you?"

"Hey, I have  _perfect_ balance in that hoop skirt. You saw me. Of course I haven't tripped over my gown."

"Yet," I add with a smirk.

She slaps my chest lightly with the back of her hand, and it's like we were never separated at all.

"Anything new?" I ask. "New projects, maybe?"

She hesitates, and I can tell there's something on her mind. She brings her wine glass up to her lips to take a sip of her drink before she tells me, probably using the time to debate about telling me at all. "I'm thinking about getting my own apartment."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, I don't think Mel's too keen on sharing space with anymore. She keeps dropping hints, like, ' _Oh, Tris, are those planes being loud again? You know, if you lived somewhere else, they wouldn't keep you up at night.'_ "

I laugh. "But do  _you_ want to move out?"

"Yeah, I think I'm ready."

"Do you know what you're looking for? I remember apartment hunting when I first moved here. I was not expecting everything to be as expensive as it was."

"Yeah, cost of living in New York City is high."

"Maybe you need a roommate." The corners of her mouth draw up in a smile, and I'm sure she's fully aware of the direction I'm taking the conversation, if I can keep up my courage. "You know, for financial convenience."

"Of course," she says knowingly. "Do you know anyone who's looking for a roommate?"

"Yeah, I know a guy."

"Uh-huh, and does this guy only have a one-bedroom apartment, because that's not gonna work for me?"

"What's wrong with a one-bedroom?" I ask.

She laughs like she's amused I don't see the dilemma. "You and I are probably gonna need a three-bedroom apartment, two at the very minimum, but we'll kill each other in a one-bedroom."

"You've put thought into this, I see."

"A lot."

"And why exactly would we need three bedrooms?"

"Well one, we need a bedroom. Then, you need a workspace that doubles for an office, a place where you can do your school work and get a head-start on your articles, keep your cameras, I don't know. That would just be  _your_  space. And then I need a studio to practice lines, so I'm not just repeating things over and over again and getting on your nerves. That's why we need three rooms."

"That doesn't sound very manageable at the moment."

"Then I guess we'll have to wait until it is."

I have to clarify. "But we  _are_  moving in together, right? When we can find this affordable three-bedroom apartment?"

"Definitely," she says, and she leans forward to kiss me. I savor her touch, teasing and satisfying and full of promises of more to come.

* * *

"Mr. Eaton, there's a call from Tris for you on line 1."

It's unusual for Tris to call me at work – in fact, I don't think she ever has – so I immediately scramble for the phone, terrified that I'm about to receive bad news.

"I'm so sorry I'm calling you at work," she begins. "I hope you're having a boring day and not doing anything right now." She sounds energized, excited about something, like she's ready to run a marathon because she just drank an entire pot of coffee.

"Lucky for you, I am. What are you so happy about?"

"Tony nominations!" she exclaims. "It's the 28th. The nominations were announced today!"

"And?" I demand.

"Tobias, I got nominated! For a Tony award! I'm up for best performance by a featured actress in a musical! And  _Les Mis_ was also nominated for best revival of a musical and best choreography!"

"Congratulations, Tris. You deserve this nomination. You deserve the award, and you're going to get that."

"Don't say that," she chastises light-heartedly. "I really want it, but it's such an honor to even be nominated, so don't build me up just so I can be disappointed if I don't get it."

"You won't be disappointed," I say, but that's the end of the subject for her.

"When are the awards? I need to know when I need to rent my tux."

"June 8th."

"I'll mark my calendar."

"Thank you. I can't believe this is happening."

"It's a long time coming."

She probably can't take any more compliments at this point, as substantially shy as she is, and she gets off the phone with me soon after, wishing me luck with whatever I have to do today. With most of my work out of the way, my day mainly consists of looking for any apartments online that meet Tris's criteria.

* * *

**May 2014**

Tris and I fall easily back into the routine we had before  _Les Miserables'_ opening night, even though  _Les Mis_  is still on Broadway at the moment. But we find the time to meet at a coffee shop for an early breakfast before I have to go to work and she has to prepare herself for the matinee show.

Lately, our time off has consisted of apartment hunting, and the two of us can't seem to agree on a suitable space to live in.

"So now you have to have a fireplace?" I ask over breakfast.

"I'm just saying it would be nice. Can you imagine a fireplace for the holidays? Indoor s'more parties? Just think of all the possibilities, Tobias."

"Well, the one we saw with the fireplace had three bedrooms, but the bedrooms were way too small. I doubt we could even fit a full-sized bed into any of them, let alone any other furniture."

"You're all about the furniture," she complains.

"Furniture's important! We need to things to hold our stuff."

"I'm sure we can find that in the suburbs."

"Oh, no. We're not leaving the city."

"I'm joking," she says. "I don't want to leave the city either. The commute to and from work would be even worse."

"I guess we'll just have to keep looking," I tell her.

"I guess so. We'll find something eventually. No rush."

* * *

Tris is worried when I'm sent to Yemen on the 24th to report on Al-Qaeda insurgency. One, because Al-Qaeda is one of the most well-known terrorist groups in the world and she fears for my safety, and two, because she knows these trips usually last a while, and she's afraid I'll be sent on another assignment that will coincide with the upcoming Tony Awards. However, I've told Amar that I will not be available for any assignment between the dates of June 5th to June 10th, just to be safe.

Honestly, I'm a little worried about covering this story. I've never dealt with anything related to Al-Qaeda before. Not for the first time I wish I was sent to other countries to report good news, stories that made people smile instead of wonder what lies in store for the fate of humanity.

And, once again, I think about my dream career, working for National Geographic.

* * *

**June 2014**

I have the weekend of the Tony Awards off work, like I usually do. Since Tris isn't off again until Sunday night, when we go to the awards together, she isn't spending the weekend with me. I take advantage of the time I have to get a hold on my schoolwork once again. Unfortunately, I haven't been as diligent in my school work as I'd like to be.

I'm taking notes on one of the audio lectures when an unfamiliar number calls me.

"Tobias Eaton?"

"Speaking."

"Hello. This is Johanna Reyes from National Geographic. Do you have a moment to speak?" she asks.

My heart pounds in my chest on its own accord. "Yes," I manage to breathe out.

"Yes, well we've kept your resume on file for quite some time now. You caught our eye when you first applied, and you showed tremendous potential. You've expressed your desire more than once to be a photojournalist for our magazine with your persistence, which we admire. And now a position is available, and we would love to consider you for the job if you're able to travel to Washington D.C. as soon as possible for an interview."

I have to think about this logically. It's Saturday morning right now. I'm sure I can find a flight that leaves soon enough to have a quick interview and then a flight to make it back tonight or even tomorrow if I have to. But I'll definitely make it home in time for the Tony's.

"Of course," I say. "I can be on the next flight out."

"Wonderful. Just call me at this number when you arrive. I'll have a taxi pick you up at the airport, and we can have the interview immediately after. I'm sorry this is on such short notice."

"No, it's perfectly all right. Thank you for this opportunity."

I hang up the phone and purchase an online ticket as quickly as I can. Thankfully, I found a flight that takes off in a little over an hour and a half. I won't bring any luggage, nothing more than the clothes on my back and the phone in my back pocket.

I think about calling Tris and sharing the news with her, desperate to discuss my own excitement, but I know she'll be worried that I won't make it back in time. Still, I don't want to just go to Washington for a job interview without telling her anything about it, so I send her a quick text message and turn my phone off, mainly because I'm too nervous to see how she responds. I suppose I'll find out when I return.

* * *

Johanna Reyes is just as kind in person as she sounded on the phone. She asks how my flight was and subsequently apologizes for the unexpected request. I listen politely to what she has to say, but I'm mainly anxious to get the interview over with. My palms sweat, and my stomach churns with nervousness. I'm sure I'm fidgeting in my seat, but I remember all the career training I had in high school, job interviews included, and I make a conscious effort to maintain eye contact and appear confident.

"So, Tobias, why should we hire you?" she asks towards the end of the interview.

I take a few seconds to organize my answer. "You should hire me because I have a passion for photography and a curiosity to discover new parts of the world that drives me in my career. I'm a hard worker, and I'm dedicated to this. I've been dedicated to this goal of mine for years, and I can challenge myself here. I can thrive here, Ms. Reyes."

She nods, and I'm worried that I can't get a good read on her expression. "I believe it, and Tobias, you're hired."

It takes a minute for her words to sink in, and then I'm jumping out of my chair, eager to shake her hand, words of gratitude spilling from my lips. We discuss a few more details over tea in her office – the main thing being that she wants me to move to Washington D.C. within the month.

Without thinking, I automatically agree, but I'm sure Tris will be supportive. She knows how much I want this, how much I have wanted this since we first met. The two of us were already talking about moving anyways. Now maybe we can move to Washington together.

* * *

I make it back to New York on Sunday afternoon, with three and a half hours to spare until I have to be ready for the awards show. I'm actually proud of myself for pulling it off; there were times I was doubtful.

I shower and dress quickly, getting my camera ready because I know I'll be taking plenty of pictures tonight. Even if Tris doesn't win the Tony, she'll still look absolutely beautiful.

I meet Tris outside of Radio City Music Hall, and she does look amazing. She's staring off into the distance until I get her attention, and then I'm met with a scowl.

"I called you six times," she says sternly.

"I-I turned my phone off."

"You went to Washington yesterday?" she demands. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about getting a job at National Geographic, which I did!"

"Congratulations," she barks.

"What's the problem? I made it back in time, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did." But she still doesn't look too happy about it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

I'm not as good at acting as Tris is. She's well-practiced in putting on a smile, in being able to pretend that everything's all right when the opposite is true. She greets people at different tables all night, shaking their hands and kissing their cheeks, and sometimes I can't even tell she's upset.

It's the little things that clue me in. The things only someone as close to her as I am would know. She doesn't reach for my hand under the table or on top of it when she usually can't bring herself to let go. She doesn't share a single smile with me; she shares smiles with others, inside jokes even, but none with me. She lets anyone that approaches her act as a buffer between the two of us, since when she's left alone with me, she's hostile and anxious to be in someone else's company. I can tell from her body language that she has never been as angry with me before as she is now.

Even when Tris's category is announced, and her name is mentioned, she doesn't take my hand. I can tell she's anxious, also very excited, but she will not take solace in me tonight. She holds her breath when the speaker opens the envelope to announce the winner.

"And the Tony award for Best Performance by a Featured Actress in a Musical goes to…Tris Prior,  _Les Miserables_."

She jumps up from her seat, and since everyone is watching us, she doesn't shrink back when I pull her back to kiss her cheek before she goes on stage. She even offers a smile along with, but I know it's not directed at me.

Despite the recent tension between us, I'm proud of her tonight. I'm proud of the award she's received. I know she's deserved it all long. She's still young. She just turned nineteen, so she still has a lot to give, a lot of achievements ahead of her.

She looks like an angel as she walks up to receive her award and deliver her acceptance speech. She holds the Tony firmly in her hands as she approaches the microphone, the widest smile on her face.

"Wow!" she says, and the audience laughs. "Thank you so much for this! Thank you to the American Theater Wing and the Broadway League, for getting me this far and giving me this chance. I'd also like to thank my agent, Al, for pushing me into this role. My aunt, Mel, who's been nothing but welcoming and nurturing for these past few years. My parents, for giving me this opportunity in the first place. Even though they're not here right now, they're mostly responsible for me being here right now."

I think she's finished with her speech, but she pauses to take a deep breath and keep from tearing up. "And finally, I'd like to thank Tobias Eaton for his support and encouragement throughout all of this. To all the people I mentioned, this award is as much yours as it is mine. Thank you!"

She sits back down beside me at our table, and I congratulate her on her award. She thanks me, but doesn't say anything else. Her tone of voice is even forced when she says it. We still have several more categories to get through, and I can tell it's going to be a long night for the two of us.

 _Les Miserables_ ends up winning the Best Revival of a Musical, and that's about the only other time I see a smile break out on Tris's face. She applauds merrily before reverting back to the stoic stature she's taken up while in my company.

"Congratulations," I say again, leaning closer to her than she'd probably like.

"Group effort."

"Still, congratulations."

"Thank you."

* * *

We hang back in the hall for a lot of people to clear out. Our excuse is that we want to wait until most of the traffic is absolved, but we both know that's not the case. Once the majority of people are gone, we slowly make our way outside as well.

The weather is perfect, a complete contrast for the current rift between the two of us. The air is still for the most part, an occasional breeze drifting through to fan us for a moment, and the stars shine above us. The moon is full. Even if we didn't have light illuminating from countless skyscrapers and billboards, we'd still be able to see each other perfectly.

She wrings her hands nervously before she decides to cross her arms, her stance reflecting the anger she concealed inside.

"I didn't think you'd include me in your speech, with how pissed off you are," I finally say. As much as I want to jump in my car and drive off right now, I know Tris won't let that happen. She's going to have us go at it in the parking lot. She doesn't care where we are, as long as we set a few things straight.

"You make it sound like I don't have a reason to be pissed off."

"Oh, you have a reason. In your opinion, I pulled a really dick move, and I'd like to say I'm completely sorry for it, but I'm not. I made it back in time for the awards, which I knew I would, and I got the job at National Geographic! National Geographic, Tris! You know I've always wanted that."

She nods solemnly, her expression tense. "Yeah, I know you have. I also know that National Geographic is based in Washington, so what happens now?"

"What do you mean what happens now?" I shout. She can be so infuriating sometimes.

"Tobias, do you really think I'm moving to Washington?"

Her question takes me aback, and she allots me a few seconds to absorb the insinuation of her words. In the excitement of getting the job, I never thought for a second that Tris wouldn't come with me. I thought I'd be able to stay with her  _and_  work for National Geographic.

"Why not?" I ask, my voice suddenly smaller than the echoing shouts a minute ago.

"I can't just pick up everything and leave."

"That's what I'm doing."

"Well, you're actually getting what you want out of this."

"Wouldn't you?" The words slip out before I can stop them. I want to take them back. I've allowed myself to be more vulnerable with Tris since our relationship started, but there are some lines I don't want to cross. This is one of them. I don't want to face the rejection. I don't want her to confirm that I'm not enough of a reason to leave.

Mercifully, she doesn't answer my question. Not directly, anyways. "I love you," she says, and her composure falters when her voice breaks on the last word. "But how would it be fair for me to give up my career when it's just starting out like yours? How is it fair that you get your dream job  _and_  me, but I have to choose?"

"You could still perform in Washington," I plead.

"You know it wouldn't be the same!" she exclaims teary-eyed. "You can't just ask me to give up everything for you and get upset when I don't!"

"Isn't that what you're asking me, too? You don't want me to leave. You don't want me to take this job."

"I want you to be happy," she interrupts. "And it's like you said, Tobias. You've always wanted this. You've wanted it since you were in middle school. Your first love is photography, just like my first love is acting."

I almost hang my head in defeat before I bring myself to ask, "Is this about tonight? Is this about leaving for the interview the weekend of the Tony's?"

"This has  _nothing_  to do with tonight. You and I both know that this was a long time coming."

"No, I didn't, Tris. I didn't think that you wouldn't come with me."

"You never asked me in the first place! You just assumed!"

"Well, when we started planning the apartment we were going to move into together, I thought you and I were a pretty done deal."

"We can't be. You're gone all the time, at the drop of a hat. You're sent all over the world, and I have no idea when you're gonna be back."

"You've always been understanding about that!"

"It's not just you! I'm as much at fault as you are! Whenever I have a show coming up, I have preparation for the audition, and then I have ten to twelve weeks of rehearsal, not to mention the two or three months after opening night where I have to do about six shows a week. We're both too busy. This isn't going to work."

"We could compromise," I suggest desperately.

"How can we compromise?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure I can think of something."

"Well, I've done a lot of thinking, and this isn't going to work anymore. We can't sustain a relationship right now. We don't have the time or the energy. On top of everything, you're getting your master's, and I still want to go to college. Our ambitions are too big for us."

"Please don't do this, Tris. This isn't necessary. You know, I-I- I don't have to take the job."

She stares at me wide-eyed, and for a second, I think she's going to accept my offer. I think I've finally gotten through to her, but then her face falls, and her body shudders with a small sob. "Don't you dare. You've always wanted his. I'm not letting you give it up for me."

"Maybe I want to."

"No, you don't."

"You don't know I feel."

"Tobias," she whispers. "It's over. We're done. I'm sorry. Good luck in Washington. I'll be looking out for your name in National Geographic."

I remember when I was in little league from preschool to elementary school, and when I was about seven years old, this kid a couple of years older than me threw a baseball during practice that hit me right in the stomach. He didn't mean to, of course, but that didn't take away from the sting. That didn't eradicate the degree of pain that left a circular bruise on my skin for days afterwards.

I remember that it felt like I couldn't breathe, the same way all the air escaped my lips whenever my father decided to discipline me with the crack of his belt.

I can't breathe now either. I feel like I'm a child all over again, and the wind's been knocked out of me. She still stands in front of me, and although stray tears run down her cheeks,  _she_  can still breathe. She can collect enough air to heave a sob and cry some more, while I'm slowly suffocating in front of her.

And she waits a minute to see if I have anything to say, any little goodbye I want to give her, and even though there's a lot for me to say, memories I want to scream at her so I can instill some guilt in abandoning me after everything we've been through. Expletives I want to shout, insults I want to deliver, and words of love shrouded in the plea to give our relationship another chance. But I can't say anything, not when I can't breathe, not when all the wind's been knocked out of me, so she takes my silence as a reply in itself, as she often does, and she nods, and she walks away.

I immediately look down and stare at an insignificant spot in the middle of the road. I don't want to look away from it. I don't want to accidentally look up because if I do, I'll see Tris with her back to me, increasing the distance between us, and I don't want the last image I have of Tris Prior to be one of her walking away from me forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than most of my other ones, but the last one was a little longer, if that's any consolation. Anyways, I didn't see anything to add to their fight without redundancy. Speaking of the fight, what did you think of it? Please take a minute to let me know. Thank you so much for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

At first, I give Tris a week. I give her one week to call me or drop by or contact me in any way, shape, or form. But as one week slowly trickles into two, any hope I have begins to fade. The two of us know full well that this is  _not_  a mutual agreement. Despite my attempts to contact her and my cajoling for the two of us to figure this out, she still hasn't responded.

And as the second week approaches the third, I finally face the facts. We're not getting back together. There is no reconciliation ahead for our relationship. Maybe one day we'll be back on speaking terms and put this all behind us. Maybe one day the painful pangs in my chest will subside, but for now I can't see either of those scenarios in my foreseeable future.

Packing up my apartment is the hardest during the third week. Packing up this one is harder than packing up my first apartment in New York, or even my apartment in Chicago. Everything I put into a box is another reminder of the whirlwind of change that's seized my life. Looking around, it's evident how much of an impact Tris has had on me. I didn't want that to change.

"That's not the brightest thing you've ever done," Zeke says while helping me tape a few boxes shut.

"How many times can I apologize for that?" I bark at him.

He holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm not saying that this is  _all_ your fault. I mean, it's not very mature of her to pretend you don't exist right now, especially when you're leaving for Washington. You two need closure."

"Nothing I can do about that."

"Nope. Sorry, Four. You two were really good together."

I sigh. "Yeah, we were."

"Don't beat yourself up over this."

"How can't I? Like you said, this was my fault to begin with. I ditched her big night for that job interview."

"She would never have moved to D.C. with you!" he exclaims, his tone something I'm not used to at all. "I'm sorry to put it like that, but she wouldn't. She's said it; you've said it. You two want different things. You love each other, that's obvious enough, but sometimes love isn't enough. Not in the real world."

Honestly, I don't want any advice from Zeke. Not about this. Not when he's only had one girlfriend in his entire life, who's only ever wanted him, and they ended up living happily ever after. He doesn't know the first thing about a break-up, about losing pieces of yourself because you gave them to someone else, thinking you'd always have her, but you end up losing her right out from under your nose.

I need his help packing, so I don't want to piss him off. One damaged relationship is enough right now. I don't want to leave New York on bad terms with my best friend, too. So I let him continue talking, even though I'm not really listening. I'm in my own world, a world that isn't 'real' by Zeke's definition. A world where things actually work out the way they're supposed to. A world where I am sitting on my sofa, the cream-colored Cloverfield sofa that Tris picked out from a catalog, watching a movie with Tris Prior, my arm strung around her and a bucket of buttered popcorn in her lap.

* * *

**July 2014**

I did make a promise to my mother, one that she's keen on keeping. I promised that if I ever found myself in Washington D.C., I'd have lunch with her. Now she knows I'm here full time. It's getting harder and harder to put lunch off, but as the weeks pass by, I realize I'm a bit starved for human interaction.

So when she offers to treat me to a little birthday lunch at a restaurant within walking distance from work, I don't decline. She sighs in disbelief and attempts nonchalance, but I can imagine her smiling through the phone.

"Tobias," she greets calmly, opening her arms just a little, enough for me to notice if I wish to reciprocate, and I do. I'm amazed by how small she is compared to me, considering I haven't seen her in person since childhood. I used to crouch behind her, and now I tower over her.

"Mother."

"It's so good to see you. I was afraid I wouldn't recognize you. I don't in a way, but I knew it was you. A mother's intuition, I guess."

"Guess so," I say, albeit somewhat strained.

"So how are you? How is everything?"

"I'm just trying to get used to the move. It's hard when you don't know many people here, and I'm just…yeah…I'm adjusting." I almost confess to recently breaking up with Tris, but that's something too personal for a 'catch up' lunch.

"How's work?" she asks.

"A bit boring, to be honest."

"That doesn't sound right. You've always wanted to be a photographer, even when you were a little kid. Maybe you built it up too high in your head."

"I've been a photographer for a few years," I remind her. "Working internationally for the Times was a great job."

"It can't be as great as National Geographic. Just give yourself some more time. Like you said, you need to adjust. Once you get accustomed, everything else will fall into place."

I nod, not in agreement, but because I want her to change the subject. This is not something I want to think about right now.

"Happy birthday," she says. "I can't believe I finally get to celebrate it with you. I thought about you every day, but it was always so much more on your birthday. I can't believe you're actually here right now."

"Neither can I."

* * *

**September 2014**

I do warm up to my job some, reminding myself how long I've wanted this, how I've  _always_  wanted this. And when I'm asked to photograph an archaeological expedition in Peru, I'm absolutely astounded by the culture and the change of scenery. Traveling was something I loved about the New York Times. Now it's a distraction that I can't function without.

My boss, Johanna Reyes, is extremely amicable and well-liked around the office. But even though her personality is agreeable, I find myself missing Amar some days. And missing  _someone_  from New York leads to missing  _everyone_  from New York, a chain that almost always starts with an acquaintance and escalates to Shauna, Zeke, and Tris.

She calls me one day when I'm sitting in my new apartment, racking my brain for something productive to do. I have to check my phone multiple times while it's still ringing because I can't believe she would actually call me, but then I remember that I need to answer the call. I mentally prepare myself for what's ahead, telling myself that I'm ready for this.

And then I hear her voice.

"Hello, Tobias."

"Tris."

"I was…um…I just…I've been trying to bring myself to call you for a while. This is the first time I've gone through with it…obviously."

"Well, it's not like I didn't give you plenty of opportunities to pick up the phone while I was moving."

She sighs. "I didn't call you to fight, Tobias."

"Well, what you do you expect to happen? Why are you calling, if not to hash things out?"

"Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice."

Her tone surprises me, as well as her words. Her tone is not biting or sarcastic. It's vulnerable. It reminds me of when she called after the anniversary of her parents' death. I don't draw attention to it. She's too proud.

"We were friends first, you know," she says. "You were one of the first friends I had when I moved to New York. I don't want to lose that just because our relationship didn't work out. We still care about each other, don't we?"

I want so badly to be mad at her. I want to bring up months of missed calls and unanswered text messages. How she didn't see me off to Washington. But I can't.

"Yeah, we do."

"So how are you? How's the job?"

"It's good. I'm traveling a lot right now. Got back from Peru recently."

"Peru? That's so exciting! Did you take a lot of pictures?"

"I mean, it  _is_  my job to take pictures."

She laughs, albeit a little nervously.

"What about you, Tris? Any new shows lately? Bet Broadway couldn't wait to cast the Tony-award winning actress."

"No, I haven't been in anything for a while."

"Oh."

"I'm just a little confused right now, I guess."

"Confused, how?"

She doesn't say anything for a minute, and I'm about to repeat the question when she finally admits, "Sometimes I think I only got into this for my mom. I wonder if I'm doing this for me or for her."

"But you love being on stage," I remind her. "From what I've seen anyways."

"Yeah, but I just want to take some time for myself right now. Take a break, finish college. I'm still young. I have plenty of time to focus on that right now."

"You're absolutely right. You need to figure all this out for yourself."

"Thank you," she chokes out. "I was worried you'd be upset with me."

"Upset with you?"

"The whole argument for our break up was that we wanted different things. Different careers in different states, and I'm not even sure I want that anymore. I wouldn't stop fighting for it when we were together, and it's like now that we're apart, theater doesn't mean as much to me as it did."

"Well, if there's anyone who can figure it out, it's you."

"Thanks."

There's an awkward lull in the conversation where neither of us know what to say. I almost think she's hung up when she cheers, "Oh! Happy late birthday!"

She's a good two months late, but I appreciate the sentiment. "Happy late birthday to you, too."

"I'm really glad we got to talk. This phone call could have gone a couple of different ways. With how hotheaded the two of us are, I'm surprised it didn't."

I laugh. "Me, too."

"I'll keep in touch. I promise. As long as you do the same. I want my good friend back."

"Okay." And before I can stop myself, I add, "You know if you're going through a break right now, trying to figure out what you want to do, maybe you should take some time off to do some traveling or something. Focus on what you want to do. Visit some places you've always wanted to visit or something."

"Yeah," she agrees. "Funny you should mention that. Aunt Mel had the same idea. And so I sat down and made a list of some of the things I might be interested in, and the number one thing was visiting this great nation's Capital."

Her meaning hits me like a ton of bricks, and I take a deep breath to steady myself. Suddenly my head is pounding, and heart starts to feel like it's working overtime, beating in tandem with the developing knots in my stomach.

My hesitation is tense between us, and the confidence she had when she suggested the idea dissipates when she says, "Unless there's some reason that I shouldn't visit. I mean, I don't have to go to D.C."

I realize now that I may never be able to refuse Tris. She's embedded herself inside of me and made herself a home. I didn't mind that while we were dating, but I feel guilty harboring these feelings for her now, three months after our bitter break-up.

Even still, I'm selfish. Even still, I'm masochistic. Even still, I really want to see her.

"And miss out on all the history to be found out here? Miss the Smithsonian, which has free entry by the way? Miss the Washington monument, the Lincoln memorial, the Library of Congress? You'd be missing out on a lot, Tris."

She hums. "Well, it's not like I know much about D.C. anyways, other than it's really small. I'd need like a tour guide or something."

We're tiptoeing around each other again, dancing this little waltz that we do, gauging which one of us will drop the pretense first. Usually, it's Tris. The confident, daring, dauntless Tris. But I can tell she wants it to be me.

"Bet you need a place to stay, too," I say.

"Yep."

"My door's always open."

She sighs in relief. "Thank you so much, Tobias! It will be so good to see you again!"

"Wait, do you have any idea when you want to visit or anything?"

"Um, soon. Maybe next week, if that's okay with you."

"Sure," I say a little unsurely.

"Great! I'll text you the details as I find out more information. I've really missed you, Tobias!"

"Yeah, Tris, I've really missed you, too."

And as she hangs up, I keep the phone clutched against the palm of my hand, staring at it heavily, replaying what's just happened.

Tris is coming to D.C.

Next week.

To visit me.

The knots in my stomach are here to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I am so sorry that I've been MIA. I posted in explanation on Tumblr this morning, but I'll just reiterate here. My computer broke down right before school started. (It was all those AP English notes for my summer assignment, I'm sure of it). Then, I spent the summer with my aunt, and I was super busy with her and her family. I didn't even have access to a computer even if I did have the time. And as a result, I had a bad bout of writer's block, which as you can see, has subsided, mostly thanks to the kind words and support from all of you! Thank you so much for not giving up on me! And I really hope you enjoy this update! I can't say when the next chapter will be up exactly, but I can promise there won't be any more three month hiatuses. You guys really are the best!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The first thing I notice about Tris when she gets off the plane is that she's cut her hair. It rests to about the length of her chin now instead of falling past her shoulders like I remember. It takes me a minute to reconcile the memory I have of Tris with the young woman standing in front of me.

But it's her. No one else's eyes possess her intensity.

She smiles. "Hi, Tobias."

"Tris."

She doesn't plan on staying for long, I think. At least that's what I assume since she only has one carry-on bag with her, and she hasn't definitively made any plans for her return. It's frustrating for me since I prefer to be in control of my environment, but I'll most likely discuss specific arrangements with her once she settles in.

And there's another thing I'm unsure of: I don't know how involved Tris wants me to be in her vacation. I don't know if my usefulness to her only extends to a bed to sleep in, or if she actually wants me to show her around Washington. Unfortunately, I'm not sure which of the two options unnerves me the most.

There isn't much to show Tris in my apartment. While she's here, she'll be staying in my bedroom, and I'll be sleeping on the couch. I've moved most of my personal things out of my room. There weren't many to begin with other than my laptop and a couple of things I might need for work.

"I feel kind of bad for taking over your room. I don't mind sleeping on the couch, you know. It's your apartment. I practically invited myself here."

"It's a pleasure to have you," I assure her.

She snorts. "That sounds so rehearsed," she explains upon my questioning glare. "You don't have to be all polite if you don't want to be. We didn't exactly leave everything on the best of terms."

"Yeah, and who's fault was that?" I snap, originally intending to playfully jab her, but the pain from the breakup is still too raw to joke about for the both of us. In the end, she doesn't respond.

"So, um, do you have a specific place you want to go first? I could recommend something. Or are you pretty exhausted from flying?" I ask.

"I should take a nap. I'll probably go out later tonight, though. I really want to see the lights on the Potomac, watch all the ships go by and everything."

"They're beautiful," I tell her.

"Do you have any pictures?"

"None that do it justice."

"I doubt it if you took them. You have an eye for those kinds of things."

"Those kinds of things?" I repeat mockingly.

"You know what I mean. The important kinds of things."

"Well, I should probably let you rest."

"Oh, okay. When would be a good time for you to go down to the river with me?" she asks.

"You-you want me to go with you?"

Her face falls immediately after I hesitate. "Well, yeah, but if I, uh, I understand if you can't or you don't want to. I'm totally intruding on you right now."

"I'd want to, but I have a lot of work I need to finish up. But you can take my car. I'll give you good directions."

"What about tomorrow? Maybe we can do something tomorrow."

"I have work, Tris."

She nods. "That's right. The normal people, the ones who have their lives all put together, they have jobs on weekdays," she says self-deprecatingly.

"Having a daytime job and having your life together are two very different things," I remind her.

I can tell she doesn't believe me by the way her shoulders sag and her eyes never leave the ground. She's lost in thought for a minute before she catches my eye again and announces, "I'm going to take a nap now."

Just before she disappears behind the door, I call her back. "By the way, Tris," I say. "I like your hair."

She smiles, maybe the first genuine, easygoing smile I've seen on her since stepped off the plane this morning.

"Thanks," she whispers, and the smile lingers on her face as she closes the door behind her.

* * *

Tris is asleep when I leave for work in the morning. I'm not sure when she actually got back from sightseeing, but I know she probably stayed by the Potomac for a couple of hours. She and I are similar in that respect, turning to nature while dwelling on the difficulties in life, and lately that little spot by the river has been my favorite place to think. It's so peaceful, and I didn't exactly get to spend a lot of time around rivers growing up.

"Tobias, have you finished editing the article I wanted you to look over?" Johanna asks me.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, good! There's another article I'd like you to take a look at. It's along the same lines as the last one, but we'd like the two pieces to offer different perspectives. We don't want to come across too biased." She hands me another article written by someone else I don't know.

"Of course. And let me know if I can ever help out in that department."

"What department?" she asks politely.

"The, um, the writing one."

"Oh. I will," she says with a smile before leaving me alone to ponder the article in silence.

So I sit behind my desk and read the article. Or, more specifically, I  _try_  to read it. Most of my attempts, though, are unsuccessful since I find the words blurring together only to start at the top of the paragraph and realize I haven't retained any of what I'm reading. Thankfully, I don't have any other work to do, so I'm free to waste the rest of the day on these four pages.

And that's exactly what I end up doing.

* * *

Tris is watching The Brady Bunch of all things when I get back to my apartment.

"We never got to finish the series," she says. "I really want to know what happens to the characters."

"Not much, actually. They get another kid at the end, a cousin, but by then the show had already gone downhill."

"I like it," she says quietly, and I take a seat on the couch at the opposite end. "How was work?" she asks.

"Fine. Did you do any sightseeing?"

She eyes me critically like she wants to say something else, something other than a direct reply to my question, but after a few seconds, her eyes soften and she relents. "Yeah, I went to the Smithsonian."

"Which one?"

"Natural history."

"That's my favorite," I tell her.

She smiles knowingly. "Of course it is."

"It's every anthropologist's dream," I defend. "It's like everything I love condensed into one museum that's walking distance from my apartment."

"It's D.C., Tobias.  _Everything_ is in walking distance from your apartment. And you don't have to defend yourself. I don't think anything else I see will be able to top the Natural History museum," she pauses. "Okay. I take that back. It's tied with the lights on the river."

"How was that last night?"

"Beautiful, like you said. Quiet, too. And I'm not used to seeing so many stars at night."

"Weather's good, too. You could take a blanket out there and camp out, like they do in the movies."

She shrugs. "That's only fun if you have someone to do it with."

There's a lull in conversation, and I'm about to take out the article to read again just have something to do when Tris says, "So work was only fine, huh?"

"It was just an uneventful day. Those happen sometimes."

"Is it better or worse than what you thought it would be?"

"I haven't been there long enough to answer that question."

"That means worse."

"Tris," I warn. "I don't want to fight."

"No, I don't want to fight either. It's just that I admire you. You've known what you've wanted your whole life, and you made it happen. What's that like by the way?"

"What?"

"Actually knowing what you want. And how do you know if that's really what you want, or if you've been, I don't know, made to want it?"

"Do you think you were made to want Broadway?"

She sighs and rests her head against the back of the couch. "I don't know. I'm not even sure if I just made the worst decision of my life by taking a break. I should be doing really well right now, considering the Tony and all. It just didn't feel the same."

She tucks her legs into her chest, hugging her knees, and she looks smaller. She looks young and vulnerable, like she is. "Do you remember my friend Christina?"

"She played the step-sister Joy."

Tris smiles, obviously pleased that I remember. "Well, she's been on Broadway longer than I have. She's been in more shows, and she's never lost that zeal for it like I have. I feel like I won the Tony and now I have no more goals for myself. Like I had my purpose, and now it's fulfilled."

"You know that's not true," I tell her. "If Broadway isn't something you want to do anymore, you have plenty of other options."

She doesn't reply immediately. "I'm just looking at all these people who are so content with their lives, and it drives me crazy because I feel like I should be, too. Caleb's at Princeton, doing everything he's always wanted to do. Zeke and Shauna are married now and starting a family together. Uriah's on his way to being a teacher. You're here, a photographer for National Geographic, just like you wanted."

"Here I am," I say, more to alleviate the tension of the moment, to make Tris laugh at least, but she doesn't.

"Tell me," she whispers sadly instead. "Is it everything you thought it would be?"

I make sure to catch her eye before I admit it. She needs to see the sincerity in my eyes.

"No," I say. "Far from it, actually."

"Do you think it'll get better? Do you think you can make it to be everything you wanted?"

"I'm not sure, but it's too late to back out now."

"No, it's not."

"I already took the plunge. Quit my job. Packed everything up and moved. Lost my girlfriend."

Her head snaps up. "I thought we agreed that was my fault."

"I'm pretty sure my actions acted as the catalyst."

She laughs. "That's kind of funny, isn't it? We broke up because we both wanted these big, different careers that would take us to big, different places, and now here we are almost four months later, not completely satisfied with our decisions."

I snort. "Nope. Not funny. Cruelly ironic."

"Well, if you ever take after me and have a midlife crisis, you're always welcome to quit your job and come stay with me in New York."

"I have high hopes that you haven't reached the midpoint of your life yet."

"Fine, not midlife crisis. Existential crisis that totally takes control of your life."

I smile. "You know what else is cruelly ironic?"

"What?"

"The only thing you cited as the reason that you and me wouldn't work out was this whole career thing, and now you've quit."

"Mmm-hmm."

We fall into a loud silence after that, not quite awkward, but far from comfortable. A silence where I'm hyper-aware of every breath she and I take. And now I realize how close we're sitting on the couch together, but to move so suddenly would give her cause for alarm, and I don't want to move away from her anyways.

"I'm still in love with you," I blurt out when the silence becomes too much, when the thoughts racing through my head just have to bubble up from the back of my throat to tell her the truth.

Her eyes widen, but other than that, her face doesn't relay any elation or repulsion. She only nods. "I'm still in love with you, too."

"So what's holding us back now?"

She takes a deep breath. "Tobias, I can't go into a relationship like this. Not when I'm so…broken."

"You're not broken."

"You know what I mean. I'm trying to figure everything out right now. Don't think I don't want to, but I'm not ready for a committed relationship. I'm sorry."

"I'll wait for you."

"It's unfair of me to ask that of you."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

"Can you just leave it alone?"

"We both confessed that we're still in love with each other!"

"Yes, we are! But it's not the right time. We're both young, trying to adjust to the new lives we've made for ourselves; or in my case, the lives we're desperately  _trying_  to make for ourselves. We're not ready to take something else on."

"Any guesses on when we will be ready?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "When we both can agree."

"And then we'll transition to  _testing the waters_?" I ask playfully, and she smiles when she remembers the phrase she used when we first started dating.

She nods in agreement, and the silence that follows is comfortable, easy. We've patched the rift between us, forgiven each other for our mistakes, and now we have an idea for the future. And Tris is right, wise beyond her years as she is. There's no need to rush. When we get to it, we'll make it right. We'll make it last. We have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I can't stress enough how much I love and appreciate all of you!


	19. Chapter 19

**November 2015**

I'm in Lebanon covering the suicide bombings in Beirut, which isn't the best way to get into the holiday spirit. Everything is so desolate right now, so hopeless, that it doesn't feel right knowing there's a plane ticket back to Washington in my pocket.

Hana calls me nonstop while I'm here to confirm that I'll be visiting Chicago for Thanksgiving, and I hate to tell her that everything's up in the air right now. I don't want to break her heart again after I missed Thanksgiving last year because I was sent to Canada to cover climate change.

I'm just thankful I'm finally doing field assignments again instead of editing articles and other mundane office work. I knew it was the right decision to stay with  _National Geographic_  just to see how things would progress. This is shaping up to be my dream job after all, and Johanna's been an absolute joy to work for. Some days I still miss Amar, but then I'm reminded of everything I've built here. Johanna tells me I have so much potential and considering my youth, she thinks I may be able to get far in this field.

My phone rings again from my nightstand. It's Zeke. He's probably been commissioned by his mom to interrogate me about my holiday plans. I don't feel like talking to him right now, as unfortunate as that is, so I ignore the call.

I know he's annoyed with me. I haven't visited anywhere near as much as I promised when I first moved to Washington. And now that he and Shauna have welcomed a third party to their family, Arabella Grace Pedrad, since May, I know he wishes I was able to spend time with their family. I wish I could see them more, too, but it's not like they've made any efforts to come to Washington to see me settled. I know it isn't convenient for the three of them to travel to D.C., but it's also not the opportune time for me to travel to New York with my recent workload.

I still feel guilty about it. Zeke and Shauna make sure I do, and with the holidays coming up, Hana and Uriah are back on board. Even my mother's called me with countless questions about my plans.

Another phone call, and I groan. This time it's Johanna. Even if I'm not in a talking mood while I mull, I can't ignore a phone call from her, and I doubt she'll grill me about my holiday plans.

"Tobias, just calling to ask if you're planning on putting in vacation days for Thanksgiving." I guess I was wrong. "We all have the holiday off, but you've accumulated about two weeks of vacation time if you wanted to take some time off and visit your family."

"Well, do you know if there are any assignments up for grabs to look out for?"

"Towards the end of the month, we're going to need to send someone to the United Nations Climate Change Conference in Paris, but I was thinking we could send David, since you've been working so hard lately, and he already has some familiarity working there."

"But he's been busy with that article about the increase in earthquakes throughout the world. He's in India right now. He should stick with that assignment."

"So you won't be using your vacation days?" she asks. "You know, once the year ends, they won't be there anymore. If you don't use them, you lose them."

"I still have one month," I remind her.

"Oh, but by then, you'll find another assignment to convince me to give you. You've been giving me so many wonderful pieces, and I regret that we didn't give you this kind of work sooner, but you don't have to prove anything anymore. We all take you seriously. We all respect you as not only a photographer, but a reporter, too. It's okay to give yourself a break."

"That's how you fall behind."

"That's how you wear yourself out."

I let her words sink in, and they do have an effect on me, but still I say, "Don't call David. I'll take the Paris assignment if you're offering it."

"I guess I am. You leave for Paris the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I'll have HR book you a flight from Dulles."

My phone beeps, and I see that Zeke has just sent me a text message:  _Give me a call when you can._  The guilt from the message eats at me inside.

I ask Johanna, "You said I have Thanksgiving off, right?"

"Yes, you do, but if you're taking an assignment only two days after, then I don't think you truly get the holiday."

"And I get back to Washington on the 20th? The article's due on the 22nd?"

"That is correct."

"Then, is there any way to have HR book the flight from Midway International in Chicago? I'd like to start my vacation on the 23rd to visit my family."

She doesn't sound frustrated with my request, which is a huge relief, as this is the first time I've asked for time off since I started at this job. Then again, she was practically trying to convince me to take vacation days, so there wasn't really anything to worry about in the first place.

Instead, she says kindly, "Yes, that can be arranged."

I'm almost giddy when I call Hana with the news because I know how much it will please her. Neither one of us is disappointed. I'm coming home for Thanksgiving.

* * *

I arrive two days before Zeke, Shauna, and Arabella do. It's a little strange being with Hana and Uriah without Zeke, but I'm absolutely comfortable just catching up with the two of them.

Uriah's talking to me about his classes when he's distracted by something on his phone. He looks up suddenly and says, "Oh, I forgot to tell you! I invited Tris, too. She flies in tomorrow. I'm so sorry I forgot. I don't want it to be weird between you."

I laugh. "She hasn't told you that we're friends now?" I ask him.

His eyes widen in surprise. "She may have neglected to mention that."

"Yeah, she came down to visit me last year, and we've been keeping in touch. Thanks for the concern, but we get along just fine."

"You two just had such an explosive break-up," he points out, and I glare at him only half-jokingly. Tris and I have both apologized to each other since then for the way we behaved that night.

"Like I said, we're all right now."

"Okay," Uriah concedes, dropping the subject altogether. "I'm excited to see her. She couldn't make it last year. She went to visit Caleb instead."

I nod. "I saw some of the pictures on Instagram. That's when the guilt of not being able to make it last year really hit. You know you've sunk low when Caleb Prior can make time for his family, and I can't."

Uriah chokes on his beer. "Yeah, that's hard to swallow. Hey, how's the job going? You haven't talked about it much for someone who's always working."

"Oh, yeah, it's great. I told you, I just got back from Lebanon, and on Saturday, I'll be flying to Paris. It's just been one assignment after the other all around the world, and it's great."

"Isn't that what you were doing for  _The Times_?"

"Not as frequently," I argue.

"Still, basically the same."

"But with a pay raise and a lower cost of living."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "I'm not trying to attack your life choices here, Four. Just trying to figure some stuff out. And, you know, catch up with an old friend."

I get up from my seat in pursuit of another beer in the fridge. "Consider us caught up."

* * *

Tris also arrives before Zeke's clan does, the day after I do. She greets me with a warm hug and a friendly smile, and I can tell she's in a much happier place than she was when she visited last year. I carry her suitcase inside for her, and she enthusiastically thanks Uriah and Hana for having her. Hana and I watch amusedly as Uriah throws her over his shoulder, and she kicks him in the back, which spurs the two of them into some sort of sibling-like spar.

When the two of them calm down, Tris asks Hana, "Have you seen the latest picture Shauna uploaded of Arabella?"

"No, I haven't! Do you have it?"

"Yes, it's so cute! They're getting all packed for the trip, and it's their first time travelling with a baby, so they've practically packed their whole apartment, and they've got her all bundled up. I swear, she's wearing three hats in the photo."

Tris pulls the photo up on her phone and passes it to Hana. Uriah tries to grab the phone so he can see the picture too, but Hana smacks his hand away. "Oh, look at my granddaughter," she coos, and I smile. There's no prouder grandmother than Hana Pedrad.

I patiently wait for Hana to give up the phone so I can see the picture, and I'm struck by how much bigger she is compared to the last picture I've seen from a few months ago. Once again, I feel terrible for how long I've put off this visit. I wasn't even there when Arabella was born. This will be my first time seeing her in person. The consequences of my actions are surreal right now, standing in the Pedrads' kitchen, holding Tris's phone in my hand.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tris teases.

"Nah, you don't want to hear about those."

"Wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

I hand her cell phone back to her and take a second to really look at her. Her eyes are bright, and she's wearing her hair down. She's grown it out since I last saw her, and there's a playfulness in her now that contrasts the grave, uncertain woman who visited me last year.

"I'm much more interested in hearing about you," I tell her.

She shrugs. "Um, okay, well I'm taking classes online like you did, but mine are for psychology, which is really interesting. And I work at a daycare center, and I'm in charge of writing catchy, educational songs for the little kids every week," she says, barely able to contain her smile. "I really like it."

"That's great," I admit sincerely. "I'm really happy you're enjoying it."

"Thanks. Maybe in a little while we can talk some more about it. Oh, and I'd love to hear how you're doing. We haven't caught up in forever," she complains.

"We called each other a month ago," I remind her. "Remember, we talked for three hours."

She had called me while I was suffering from a six-hour layover in Buenos Aires, but while we were talking, I couldn't believe how quickly the time escaped me. I'm sure I managed to piss off quite a few people waiting for the same flight, but it felt amazing reconnecting with Tris. Even before we were dating, we always got along well.

"That was two months ago!" she corrects light-heartedly.

"You're rounding up."

"Well, you're rounding down to make yourself look better. To make it look like you haven't been ignoring us with all the work you're doing." Even though she's mainly joking, it still feels like a blow to the gut.

In all seriousness, I agree with her. "Yeah, it would be nice to just sit down and talk. I've missed you, too."

She grins. "I never said I missed you."

"It was certainly implied."

"You want to go roller skating tonight?" she asks out of the blue.

"Roller skating?"

"Yeah. I haven't been in a while, and I love roller skating."

"Aren't you jetlagged?"

"Don't try to make me rethink this. You just don't want to go."

"Come on, Tris, roller skating?"

"It's our vacation!"

"Exactly!"

She rolls her eyes. "Come on, we should. Just you and me. You said it would be a good idea to catch up. This is the way to do it."

Of course, I have to meet her eyes. Those damn eyes are always so expressive. I cave in under a minute, much to her delight. We feel sorry for leaving Hana and Uriah, but Uriah schedules a last-minute date with his girlfriend, and Hana insists that she needs to get some housework done before Zeke's family arrives tomorrow. Both of them practically usher us out of the house. Hana even loans us her car.

"I'm really glad you could make it for Thanksgiving this year," Tris says in the car. "Do you think you'll come for Christmas, too?"

"Maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "You're not usually the noncommittal type."

"Are you sure about that?" I joke, and she laughs.

"Yeah, nevermind. You are kind of wishy-washy."

"You're right there with me, Prior."

"I know."

That night it's like we're dating again. The energy between us is the same, but we're more sensitive about touch. We're not holding onto each other like we used to, but there are some of the looks we used to give each other that I grew so familiar with. I wonder if people around us think we're a couple.

We arrive at the skating rink just when the lights are dimmed for nighttime, and Tris doesn't want to have anything to eat first. She wants to go straight to skating, which is really amusing to me since she isn't exactly the best skater. I guess she just has a craving for it right now. The music is blasting in my ears, and I remember how this used to be like a club when Zeke and I were preteens. All the hottest kids in middle school spent their weekends here.

At one point, a boy of about twelve-years-old accidentally bumps into Tris, forcing her to lose her balance and sending her plowing into me. She grips my forearm, and I have to hold onto the rail to keep us both from falling over. I look down at her to ask her if she's all right, but the question lodges itself in the back of my throat when I see the intensity of her gaze.

"You know, my crush on you started here," she says.

"No, I didn't know that."

"We had that group date, and you came early, and I felt like we just had an instant spark. I didn't think you could ever think of me like that because I was sixteen, and you were moving away, and I kept telling myself it was just a stupid crush. But that didn't stop how I felt every time you paid even a little attention to me."

She's standing on her own now, but I still find myself gripping onto the railing to keep my balance. I think back to the night that she visited me over a year ago, when I confessed that I still had feelings for her, and she told me that she wasn't ready. I wonder if this is her way of starting to tell me that she's ready now. She seems to be in a good place right now, and I finally realize that my feelings for her will always be strong.

And because I'm terrible with words and because there are so many thoughts racing through my head that I want to silence, I lean forward and press my lips to hers in the easiest way to express my feelings.

She kisses me back for a second, but then she turns her head away and abruptly ends it. Suddenly I fear that I've misread her.

"Maybe we should sit down," she suggests.

I follow her off the rink and towards the arcade. "This is where you shoot me down, isn't it?" I ask, and I cringe when I hear the bitterness in my tone, but I can't bring myself to apologize for it.

She doesn't say anything, and I continue. "Everything seems great between us, Tris. I don't understand what the problem is this time."

"The problem is that nothing's changed! It's like we're in the exact same place we were when we broke up. You're happy in Washington, and I'm happy in New York, and neither one of us should have to compromise that."

"So we're back to our old-age argument that our lives are too big to accommodate two?"

"Looks that way."

"But I thought we could give this a chance again. That's basically what you said when you came to D.C."

"I know, but Tobias, maybe we waited too long. I don't think you and me are ever going to find the right time again." She says this with finality, and I'm so tired of fighting with her about this same issue.

"I'll compromise," I say.

She's surprised, likely by my bluntness, and subsequently exclaims, "You know I don't want you to give up your happiness for me!"

"I wouldn't be! Tris, you and I are made for each other! Tell me that you don't pull out memories from when we were dating and go over them in your head because that's what I do. We were happy, and yes, we were younger and inexperienced and ambitious, but I like to think we've learned from our mistakes. At least I have."

"Tobias-'' she starts to interject, but I will not lose this chance now.

"And yes, this past year and a half or so of being with  _National Geographic_ has been great, and I love it, but Uriah brought something up last night that I haven't been able to get out of my head. What I'm doing in D.C. is almost the same thing as what I was doing in New York. And New York has my best friends, and New York has you, and maybe I stayed away so long because I knew that if I came back and saw everyone, I'd be reminded of what I left behind. And maybe I worked so hard and took every assignment that I could so I wouldn't have time to think about how happy I could have been if I stayed in New York.

"And Tris, I don't want you to think that I would be giving up my career for you. Because trust me, I can be selfish. You've seen me be selfish. If I left  _National Geographic_ , it would be for me because in all my life, nothing makes me happier than you do. And if something as simple as a job is keeping me from being as happy as I can be, I will cut it out. I deserve to be happy, and so do you. And I honestly believe that we deserve to give this another shot."

There are tears in her eyes that likely match the tears in mine. I grip her hands, and my eyes plead for her to listen to me, to let me through that wall of stubbornness she maintains so carefully.

She's caught between a laugh and a cry when she says, "You make a very compelling argument."

"Did it work?" I ask, less desperately than my speech a minute ago.

She stares into my eyes and then down at our intertwined hands before nodding weakly at first. "Yeah, it worked."

She kisses me fiercely this time, but then she must remember we're in a public setting, so she finishes with a chaste peck.

I let her know that I have one last assignment to do after Thanksgiving before I'll tell Johanna about my plans, and she asks me again if this is what I want to do. I know now that any lack of conviction from her in the past did not come from a disinterest in me or our relationship, but from a fear that she wouldn't be enough for me. It's incredible knowing that I've finally convinced her that she is more than enough, and I'll dedicate my life to reminding her.

* * *

It's not in Zeke's nature to hold a grudge. Shauna's a little better at it than he is, but both forgive me when I apologize profusely and rave about their daughter, although I'm a little apprehensive about holding her.

Tris isn't. She picks Arabella up out of her car seat and walks all around the house with the baby in her arms. When Tris starts to bounce her up and down, I'm worried that she's going to drop her, but no one else seems to share my paranoia.

Zeke and I sit out on the porch that night.

"So how's the job?" he asks.

I shrug. "I'm going to give Amar a call," I say.

"Why?"

"See if I can get my old job back."

Zeke processes what I'm saying, and his face breaks out into a grin. "If you're not being serious right now, I'm going to kill you."

"No, I'm being serious."

"Oh, my God! That's great! Do you need a place to stay? You can stay on our couch, you know. Seriously."

I laugh. "Thanks for the offer, but I know a certain friend who's already agreed to take me in."

"Please tell me she's blonde."

"She is."

"This is great. Now I get my best friend back, and he doubles as a babysitter."

"Not really great with babies."

"You will be with my baby. That's your co-goddaughter with Uriah."

"I'm sure I'll figure something out. Tris seems good with her. Maybe she'll help me."

Zeke clinks his beer against mine. "I'm sure she will."

I call Johanna in the morning to let her know I don't plan to stay on with  _National Geographic_ once I complete my assignment in Paris.

"I'm disappointed that you'll be leaving, and I'm going to miss you, but I know you have great things awaiting you in New York," she says.

"Thank you, Johanna."

"And I saw some of the pictures you uploaded from your Thanksgiving holiday. I imagined this might be coming when I saw the pictures of you and your girlfriend. You two look so cute together. I don't imagine you want to be separated from her."

"Nope."

She sighs happily and muses aloud, "After all, a picture's worth a thousand words."

"Yes, it is," I agree wholeheartedly.

* * *

**Epilogue**

**50 years later**

Their little townhouse isn't far from the city. It was a good distance for both of their jobs and a good size to raise a family. 4 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms with a basement for a studio and a backyard that the children spent hours rolling around in.

They have a nice little fireplace inside of the house that the family would sit in front of and thaw out from snowball fights in the bitter winter. The living room was a good size with enough couches to accommodate their family and Zeke's family when they often came over for visits. With the grandchildren now, it can get a little crowded.

And oftentimes, sitting in the living room, they looked over to the staircase that connected both stories of the house, for decorating that wall were carefully selected pictures, which told the story of their family and their family only.

A picture of Tris Prior and Tobias Eaton at a baseball game.

A picture of Tris and Tobias Eaton on their wedding day.

Tobias Eaton at a little league game with life-long friend Zeke Pedrad.

Tobias Eaton's front-page photograph from  _The New York Times_.

Tris and her mother in stage make-up when Tris was eight years old.

Tris and her daughter in stage make-up when  _she_ was eight years old.

Tris, Tobias, their son, and their daughter in Chicago for Christmas.

Tobias giving their daughter away on her wedding day.

Tris straightening her son's tie on his wedding day.

Tris and Tobias holding their twin grandsons.

The kiss Tobias and Tris share on their 50th wedding anniversary.

No one is immune to the pull of pictures on the wall. They call the attention of everyone; they share pieces of a story. After all, a picture's worth a thousand words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this story is actually finished. Some days I thought I'd never be able to complete it, but a lot of it is thanks to your encouraging messages and your favorites and views, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it! Thank you so much for reading not only this story, but my other works in progress as well! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it! Happy Holidays!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this chapter! I intend to update twice a week. I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but the following chapters will be longer. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and continue to enjoy the story!


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